


Something That Happens To Other People

by Caedmon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Anathema's role in this is as deus ex machina, Bottom Aziraphale, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Matchmaker Anathema Device, Mutual Pining, Newspapers, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Pining, Rimming, Romance, Wedding Planning, and i make no apologies for that, bottom Crowley, look - Freeform, top crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 84,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23329261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley is a hotshot political reporter who's landed himself in hot water with his editor. He finds himself demoted to the society desk, where he is assigned to cover the wedding of Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer. He'd rather chew tin foil than lower himself in such a way, but if he's going to claw his way back to the top, he's going to have to prove himself.Aziraphale Fell is the most sought-after wedding planner in all of London, hailed as the 'angel of love' due to his knack for picking couples who have the most successful marriages. He spends his working hours making other peoples' dreams come true... but his own dreams of romance died long ago. To his mind, love is something that happens to other people.Sparks fly when these two cross paths, and they find themselves instantly attracted to one another. But can Crowley prove Aziraphale’s belief about love to be wrong?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1890
Kudos: 1117
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Good Omens Rom Com Event, Ineffable Humans AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Cover art by the illustrious Rose--Nebula
> 
> Hello, and welcome to my newest multichap! Thanks for clicking on my little story and taking a chance. I apologize in advance for the long note. 
> 
> This is a part of the Good Omens RomCom event, and my assigned film was 27 Dresses. This is not a close retelling of that movie - I've taken quite a few liberties and changed more than a little. I hope you won't mind and will enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> I have thirteen chapters written, and I anticipate there being a handful more... so probably a total of eighteen or so. The first two chapters are going up today, and then I will update like clockwork on Monday and Thursday mornings, EST. (In four years, I've missed one scheduled posting date and it was because of a hurricane. You can trust my posting schedule.) 
> 
> I've relied on advice and help from a lot of people during the writing of this story. Special thanks are owed to (in alphabetical order): aintfraidanoghosts, CynSyn, FamiliarFan, Lurlur, meile_petite, rishidiams, Rose--Nebula, seekwill, and summerofspock. Each of these people encouraged, supported, provided beta services, or gave me insight I might not have had otherwise. Thank you all so much, guys. Another special shout out to the Good Omens Events Discord Server, who have been a sounding board as well and have helped me plot scenes. 
> 
> I own nothing but the mistakes. Despite the fact I've relied on all these people, the errors you'll almost certainly find are all on me. 
> 
> Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

_24 August, 2020_

Crowley smirked at Beezle from his place, sprawled in the chair across the desk from them. He was nervous, although he’d never admit it and didn’t dare show it. It wasn’t wise to show weakness to his editor under normal circumstances - and these weren’t normal circumstances. This particular situation had the potential to see him fired. 

Still, he wasn’t sorry about what he’d done, and would do it again. It was his _job_ as a reporter, asking questions. Even the tough ones. Even the ones that may get him sacked. 

“You’ve fucked up this time, Crowley,” Beezle said, their beetle-black eyes hard. “I warned you to let the Morningstar thing drop, but you were like a dog with a bone.”

Crowley did his best not to let his calm exterior crack. “I got a tip. I investigated it. There turned out to be some meat to the story, so I dug deeper. How was I supposed to know the corruption ran all the way up to Morningstar’s wife?”

“You’ve written an article accusing the wife of the president of this paper of all manner of things! Embezzlement, bribery… actual crimes! And you published the damn thing without an airtight case!”

“I believe my sources,” Crowley said simply, propping one ankle on his knee and reclining in his chair, threading his fingers over his belly in a false show of casual bravado. “I didn’t have any hard evidence, no, but I had enough eyewitness accounts to feel comfortable publishing. It was the right call, journalistically speaking.”

“It was the _wrong_ call to publish an article of this magnitude based solely on word of mouth, and you fucking know it. It was reckless as hell and stupid to boot.” Beezle sighed, then pinched the bridge of their nose. “Morningstar ordered me to fire you.”

Crowley tried not to flinch; he’d expected this. In as mild a voice as he could muster, he said, “So that’s it then? I get booted to the fucking pavement for exposing his wife as corrupt? Is that how this works?”

“No, you arse, I’m not firing you - although I fucking _should_. You’re a goddamn nightmare.” They paused and took a breath. “But you’re also a damned fine reporter. So I convinced him to let you stay. God only knows why I did it.”

He relaxed. “Good. That’s good. So I’ll just get back to work then?”

“Not so fast. I didn’t have to fire you, but I _did_ have to appease him in some way. You’re being reassigned.”

Crowley sat up straight in his chair, every muscle in his body activated and on alert. “Reassigned to _where_?”

“The society desk.”

He shot to his feet. “The fucking _society desk_?”

Beezle didn’t flinch. “Yes, the fucking society desk. And you’re damned lucky to get the post.”

“Lucky, my arse! You can’t _do_ this, Bee!”

“Would you rather be out on your arse?” Beezle snapped. 

“Maybe I would!” Crowley fired back. “Maybe I should walk right out, take my balls and my talents and go home. I’m an award-winning journalist, for fuck’s sake. Someone will hire me. Anyone would. I could get a job anywhere. I don’t need _you_ ,” he snarled. The more he thought about this idea, the more he liked it. He could work anywhere. He didn’t need Beezle - or any of them. 

Beezle leveled a look at him. “Do you really believe that? Do you really think that any paper is going to take a reporter they see as a loose cannon? A ‘seasoned’ reporter who published an expose without a shred of hard evidence? Or one who implicated his last boss’ family in a scandal? You’ll be laughed out of every office.”

Crowley paused for a moment, then swore to himself. That was true. Unpleasant to think of, but true. No one would hire him if they saw him as a liability. And his reputation for writing biting exposes, revealing the dark, hidden underbelly of British politics was well-known. He’d never been discriminating when he set out on a story, not caring who he took down as long as he printed the truth. It had served him well, but now it was biting him in the arse.

He’d never admit it out loud, but publishing the Morningstar story without evidence in his hand really _had_ been a massive fuckup. Beezle was right, as much as it pained him to even think those words. Beezle was right. _Fuck._

“Sit down, Crowley,” Bee said in a somewhat kinder tone - which still had the edge of blunt rudeness to it. Crowley sat. “I’m assigning you to the society desk - _for now_. This isn’t permanent, it’s only until the heat on you cools down a bit. You do a good job in society and you can work your way back up. I swear it.”

The words sounded hollow in his ears. Writing for the society desk meant dealing with lords and ladies and rich arseholes who only cared about themselves. He had to deal with them occasionally, writing for politics, but this would mean that those were the _only_ people he’d deal with. It would be torture, the purest form of hell. He groaned and let his head drop forward into his hands. 

“Buck up,” Beezle said unhelpfully. “I’m giving you the assignment all the other reporters on the desk are clamoring for.”

“What’s that? Reporting on fucking hats at the horce races?”

“No, wisearse, the wedding of Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer.”

“I don’t even know who the fuck they are!”

“Miss Device is an American heiress who has made Tadfield her home. She’s the daughter of Roger Device, the founder and CEO of PropheCorp. Newton Pulsifer seems to be just an average bloke.”

“Then why the hell is she marrying him?”

“That’s what you’re going to find out. The wedding is in four weeks. I want you to follow the couple for the remainder of their wedding planning, observing and interviewing them. You’ll do a profile on them, individually and as a couple. And you’ll cover the wedding itself.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he muttered in a dead voice.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Quit your whining. You fucked up, and now you have to pay the price. This fall from grace isn’t the end of the world, Crowley, it’s just what you have to do to get yourself reinstated.”

Inside, Crowley was raging, howling at the injustice of what had happened to him. He was being punished for doing his job and wanted to scream, to shout, to beat the shit out of anything and everything until he felt better. But he was too stunned at the moment, and deep down he knew it would do no good. He blinked back the prickling in his eyes viciously, refusing to show Beezle that kind of weakness, and resolved to be professional. He could overcome this and reclaim his place as the top political reporter for the Hellfire Times. He _could_.

With newfound resolve, Crowley squared his shoulders. “Tell me where to start.”

~*~O~*~

Crowley stormed into his flat, casting his messenger bag aside without care for the laptop inside, more angry than he could ever remember being.

“You’re not going to believe this shit, Freddie,” he called out to his pet python, who was curled on the coffee table. “Remember the piece I was working on? The Morningstar thing? Well, I got fucking demoted over it. And get this - it’s to the society desk. The fucking _society desk!_ ” he shouted, flinging his arms into the air like one of those inflatable tube men. 

Freddie acknowledged him by raising his head and flicking out his tongue placidly, but Crowley was on a tear. 

“If I tried, if I really sat down and fucking _tried_ , I don’t think I could come up with anything they could have done that would have been more insulting than the fucking _society desk_! Can you believe this horseshit?”

The great black snake gave him an unperturbed look, then lowered his head back down to his coil. 

“Goddammit, you lazy viper, you’re supposed to be on _my_ side! How’s about a little outrage, eh?”

Freddie snoozed on, and Crowley swore foully, stomping over to grab the water mister and aiming it at his plants like a gun. 

“What do you lot have to say about all this? It’s utter bullshit, yeah?”

The plants didn’t respond either, they just glistened under the mist of water he was spraying on them. Crowley fumed silently while the greenery said nothing. 

“Leafy bastards,” he snarled. “I should just let you all rot. What good are you anyway, eh?”

Still, the plants said nothing. 

Crowley grumbled to himself, still furious, but with no outlet to vent to. For the first time in the year since they’d broken up, he missed Dagon. What he needed right now was someone to blow up at, to release his frustration to, but there was no one. Sure, he could ring one of his friends, but they were nearly all reporters, too. They were all competitive with each other, despite being friends, and he knew that while they’d offer him the pity he was seeking, there would be at least a small part of them that would be glad to not have to compete with Crowley for a while. He didn’t think he could take that. He could go to a pub and pick someone up, that was easy enough to do and he hadn’t shagged anyone in a long while, but he wasn’t in the mood for a shag right now, and certainly didn’t want any fucking strings attached to anything in his current mental state. Besides that, what good was venting your frustrations at a stranger? That was what he _really_ needed - a sympathetic, listening ear. Someone who gave a damn about him and wanted him to be happy. 

But what he _had_ was a flat full of plants and a lazy, freeloading snake - neither of whom talked back. 

“Fuck this,” he muttered, tossing the mister in the general direction of its place on the shelf. “I know what I need.” 

Then he stalked into his bedroom to change out of his clothes into pyjama trousers with jerky, angry movements, stopped by the kitchen to pick up some snacks and a bottle of lager, then plopped himself onto the couch and pulled up the Golden Girls.


	2. Chapter 2

_25 August, 2020_

Crowley ground his teeth together, his jaw clenching, hands tight on the steering wheel. He’d been over and over this in his mind in the twenty-four hours since Beezle had told him he was reassigned. He could do this. This was the way back to the top. He _knew_ he could do this. 

“Right,” he muttered to himself, then killed the engine in his 1932 Bentley and grabbed his black leather messenger bag. Time to do his job and prove what he was made of. 

Anathema was American, the daughter of a wealthy tech scion, who had come to the UK for university and fallen in love with the country. She’d lived here almost exclusively for the last eight years, working as an author of occult books, and was engaged to marry a young man named Newton Pulsifer. That was the extent of everything he knew about her prior to this interview. Normally, he’d have done a deep dive into researching the subject of his articles, but there was no point. This was a puff piece with puff people, and he didn’t feel like wasting his time to research some socialite. Besides that, he suspected this bride and groom were likely to be as deep as a puddle, so there wouldn’t have been much to research, anyway. 

“Just get through this,” he muttered to himself as he knocked on the door of the modest cottage that Miss Device apparently lived in. 

In hindsight, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected when he’d knocked. For one or the other of them to answer the door, certainly. Perhaps a maid or something. But what he _got_ was a young couple opening the door together, and Crowley had never seen two people who looked so mismatched. 

At first glance, the only word to describe the young man standing there was ‘nerdy.’ He wore thick spectacles on his plain face, and his head was topped with a mop of unruly, dark hair. His shirt was plaid and tucked into his chinos, and he was sporting a striped tie that didn’t match very well at all. Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised to see him with a pocket protector. He looked a bit taken off guard that Crowley had arrived at the appointed time, and Crowley got the impression that he may be one of those people who were incredibly intelligent but struggled with common sense. 

On the other hand, the young woman was practically sparkling with cleverness. She exuded intelligence and charm, and Crowley felt a little abashed for having judged her so harshly before meeting her. The only word that could describe _her_ appearance was ‘witchy.’ She had long, brown hair that curled gently down to her elbows, and wore a smart, buttoned-up jacket in a fashion that he hadn’t quite seen before, paired with a long, flowy skirt and dainty boots. Her wide eyes were visible behind a pair of dark, round frames, and she smiled pleasantly at him. 

“Mr. Crowley, I presume,” she said.

“Er, yes, but you can drop the title. I’m just Crowley. You must be Miss Device and Mr. Pulsifer?”

“Oh, no, none of that. I’m Anathema and this is Newt,” she said, gesturing to her fiance. 

Newt still looked puzzled. “I was expecting Aziraphale.”

Now Crowley was puzzled. “Who is _Aziraphale_?”

“Our wedding planner. He’ll be along shortly,” Anathema explained.

Crowley bit back a groan. A wedding planner? Bloody hell, he didn’t want to deal with anyone as vapid as a wedding planner. He hadn’t thought he would have to deal with _anyone_ beyond the bride and groom, but he supposed he should have seen this coming. Bloody _hell_.

“Ah. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m just a reporter from the Hellfire Times. Am I early for our appointment?”

“No, not at all. You’re right on time, it’s just Aziraphale is running a bit late. Do come in.”

Crowley stepped into the cottage, struck by how _normal_ everything looked. They were standing in a foyer that was tastefully decorated without being showy. To his right was a dining room and to his left was a lounge - both also well-appointed but not flashy. He’d have expected the home of a wealthy socialite to be more lavish, but Jasmine Cottage could have been the home of any average citizen. Nothing looked terribly expensive or posh, and Crowley couldn’t help but be charmed. 

“Won’t you come into the lounge?” Anathema asked politely, her hand extended where she wanted Crowley to go, and he followed her directions, messenger bag over his shoulder and held tight like a shield.

The lounge was just as cozy as the rest of the cottage, and he went to an armchair across from the couch and waited for Anathema and Newt to sit down. Once they did, he took his seat, setting his messenger bag down beside his leg. 

Anathema smiled again and gestured to the coffee table between them. “I made us some refreshments. Lemon cookies and tea.”

Crowley glanced down at the tray of refreshments, but there wasn’t a teapot, instead a pitcher filled with iced tea. Apparently he made a face because Anathema chuckled. 

“You’ll have to forgive me - you can take the girl out of America but you can’t take the America out of the girl. I can only drink hot tea in the morning. For the afternoons, I need it iced. Especially hot afternoons, like this one.”

“Iced tea is fine,” Crowley assured her with a smile. “And I love lemon biscuits.”

“Cookies,” Newt corrected him from beside her. “She insists that when she bakes them, they’re not biscuits, they’re cookies.”

Anathema giggled again. “I think I’ve acclimated to British culture fairly well, but I can’t give up _all_ my Americanisms, can I?”

“Of course not,” Crowley assured her, eager to get on her good side, to make a good impression and to get this over with. “May I?” he asked, his hand hovering over the plate of bis - _cookies_.

“Please. That’s why I made them.”

Crowley plucked one from the plate and brought it to his lips, taking a bite as Anathema poured iced tea into three tall glasses, leaving a fourth empty. The cookie was quite good, and when he swallowed, he complimented her. 

“Thank you. They’re my mother’s recipe. She got bored as a stay at home wife. So, after I went to school, she taught herself to bake. She’s very talented, but I’m only passable.”

Humility? From a wealthy heiress? It was unheard of, and Crowley decided he liked this young woman - so far.

Anathema was giving him an odd look, and he fought the urge to squirm. “You don’t want to be here,” she said slowly, with narrowed eyes, as if sussing something out. 

Crowley nearly choked on his bite of cookie and gulped down some of the tea to cover himself. When his airway was clear, he asked, “Why do you say that?”

She still looked to be sizing him up. “Your aura. It’s very orange - the color of reluctance. I also sense reluctance in your energy. You’re here under duress. Is that right?”

How the fuck was he supposed to answer _that_? He scrambled for a moment, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he decided on honesty - at least, a little bit of honesty. 

“I was just reassigned from politics to the society desk and this is my first assignment. I’m concerned about doing well.”

She tilted her head in curiosity. “No, I don’t think that’s entirely it. There’s more that you’re not telling. You’re not happy about this assignment, are you?”

Crowley thought fast. How could he answer without being insulting?

Newt stepped in. “Anathema, you’re going to scare him off. Remember how Aziraphale almost wouldn’t work with us? Lighten up a bit.”

Anathema glanced over at Newt, and Crowley was curious to see how she’d handle what he’d said. He was surprised (again) when she smiled at her fiance, then at Crowley. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley. Sometimes I forget myself. I certainly didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s quite alright,” Crowley said, absolutely blown away by this woman. 

“Let’s make a deal, shall we?” she offered with a smile. “You and I will be honest with each other over the next four weeks. I won’t pry, I promise, if _you’ll_ promise not to lie to me. It’ll be easier to trust each other that way, I think, and I’ll be more comfortable opening up to someone I feel is being honest in return. How does that sound?”

“Yes, that sounds fine,” Crowley agreed at once, still a bit staggered.

“Excellent!” she chirped.

Crowley thought for a second, then offered, “To answer your question, I haven’t been excited about this change in job assignments. But you’ve been nothing like what I expected so far - which is a good thing. I find myself dreading this assignment much less now.”

Anathema’s answering smile was bright. “I’m so happy to hear it. So! Where do we begin? I assume you’ll be asking us the standard questions: how we met, how long we’ve been together, all of that?”

“Yes, eventually,” Crowley said, reaching into his messenger bag to retrieve his notepad and pen. “For today, I just thought we’d spend a little time getting comfortable with each other. I probably won’t ask a ton of questions today, unless you’re feeling froggy.”

Anathema and Newt glanced at each other, then Newt shrugged. “You’re the one who knows what you’re doing.”

“Do you mind if I use the recorder?” he asked, withdrawing the little device and showing it to them.

“No, not at all.”

“Excellent.” He pressed the record button and laid the recorder down on the table between them. “Now, Anathema, you’re twenty-seven, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And a successful author in your own right. Occult books, I believe.”

“That’s correct.”

He turned to Newt. “How about you? How old are you, and what do you do?”

“I’m twenty-nine and an accountant.”

Crowley was not the least bit surprised to hear that bit of information. He resisted the urge to smirk to himself as he scrawled on his notepad, then looked up at them. “Right. Well, how has wedding planning been going?”

Anathema smiled. “It’s been amazing. Aziraphale has been a dream. We were so lucky to get him.”

“Lucky?”

“Oh, yes. He’s the most sought-after wedding planner in Britain, and he’s _very_ selective about his clients. I was worried we’d have to settle for someone else, but we must have impressed him in the interview.”

He sounded like a tosser to Crowley, but he kept his expression neutral. “I see. Have you got a theme or anything for your wedding?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. All three heads turned towards the sound. 

“That’ll be Aziraphale,” Anathema said brightly.

“I’ll get it,” Newt volunteered, getting to his feet and crossing the room. 

“I can’t wait for you to meet Aziraphale,” the bride gushed. “You’re going to love him.”

 _Not bloody likely,_ Crowley thought to himself as he smiled politely. 

He looked up when he heard motion near the door, not really curious but figuring he ought to seem at least a _little_ interested. Newt reappeared at the door with a smile, then crossed the room to resume his seat, revealing the man behind him, and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. 

The wedding planner - _Aziraphale_ \- was simply the most lovely creature that Crowley had ever seen in his forty years on this earth. His hair was white-blond and curly, looking for all the world like a halo, which was fitting, considering his face was almost cherubic. His eyes were a shade of blue that Crowley suspected would look different based on his moods, or perhaps his clothes. His clothes were unusual, old-fashioned and fussy, all in light tones and somehow _perfect_. He looked like a Victorian gentleman, trussed up to take tea with the queen - not have an interview with Crowley. Honestly, he really did look like a goddamn angel. 

Aziraphale stepped forward with his hand extended to Crowley, a bright smile on his face that had a funny effect on Crowley’s insides. He nearly fumbled in his haste to get up and greet him, but he managed. His eyes were wide behind his sunglasses when he offered his own hand, and widened further when Aziraphale shook it. Crowley’s hand tingled where they touched, and he felt a thrill of electricity race up his arm. 

Oh, no. Oh, _no._

“Anthony J. Crowley, I presume?” the blond man said, his smile still bright. 

Crowley nodded, his brain a scramble. “Uh, yes. Yes, that’s me. You can call me Crowley. And you must be the famous Aziraphale?” he said, recovering a bit and offering a smile of his own. 

“Oh, I don’t know about _famous_ , but yes. I’m Aziraphale Fell.”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Aziraphale flushed a little and dropped his hand, much to Crowley’s regret. He wanted to touch that angel’s soft skin forever - and all over. _Shit_.

“I hope you’ve only heard good things.”

“I only have good things to say about you,” Anathema said brightly, breaking the moment. Crowley felt himself flush with embarrassment, having completely forgotten she was there, but did his best to hide it. He glanced at Aziraphale to notice that there was a little pink high on his cheeks, as well, or was that Crowley’s imagination? Whatever it was, Crowley found it utterly charming. 

The flush on Aziraphale’s cheeks darkened, proving that it wasn’t all in Crowley’s head, and he realized he was staring. He glanced away hurriedly, flustered, and just managed to catch a smile from Anathema that bordered on smug. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and turned his attention to Anathema and Newt. “Sorry I’m late,” he said with a smile that Crowley wanted to sunbathe in. “I got held up a bit in traffic. Please don’t let me interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Anathema reassured him with a smile, then gestured towards the empty chair a couple of feet from Crowley’s. “Have a seat. Join us. Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, yes please,” the wedding planner said gratefully. “It really is awfully hot today.” 

He brushed past Crowley, tantalizingly close, close enough for Crowley to get a whiff of his scent - sandalwood and spice and something like old paper. It was desperately appealing, and Crowley felt a little dizzy. He may have swayed a little on his feet, he couldn’t be sure, but definitely sat down harder than he’d intended, his knees just seeming to give up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aziraphale sit gently, almost delicately, in the armchair, his back perfectly straight and his fingers threaded in his lap. The word that sprang to Crowley’s mind was _prim_. It should have been off-putting. It should have been ridiculous. But somehow, it was even more appealing. 

The room was quiet for a minute, and Crowley realized everyone was looking at him expectantly. Shit. He’d gotten so wrapped up in Aziraphale, he’d forgotten what he was doing. _Shit_.

“Ah, sorry. Got a bit off track,” he muttered, rearranging his notepad on his lap and scrambling to regain his footing. 

Anathema was giving him a knowing look. “No problem,” she said, her mouth quirked up.

“I guess now that Mr. Fell is here --”

“Aziraphale, please,” the blond man to his right said quickly. “Mr. Fell was my father.”

“Ah, yes. Aziraphale. Of course. Now that he’s here, I suppose we should talk a bit more about the wedding.”

“If you like,” Anathema said graciously, her eyes twinkling with something that made Crowley want to squirm. 

He cleared his throat. “Right. Is there, erm, is there any theme to the wedding?”

The other three people in the room glanced at each other, and Newt raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “That’s a question for you two,” he said, indicating Anathema and Aziraphale. “I’m simply showing up when and where I’m told.”

Anathema grinned. “Wearing what you’re told, too, right?”

“Of course, darling.”

She beamed, then turned to face Crowley. “I guess you could say that this is a very blended wedding in a lot of ways.”

Crowley scribbled ‘blended’ on his legal pad and tried to concentrate on what she was saying - not the man beside him. “How do you mean?”

“Well, when I went to Aziraphale, I had no idea what I wanted. I had no plan at all, only a couple of loose ideas. But he was wonderful about talking to me and figuring out what I would like best. What _we_ would like best,” she added with a smile to Newt. 

“How is it blended? A combination of English and American traditions, I assume?”

“Yes, there’s that, but there’s also a blending of old and new. I wanted to have some old traditions and customs infused with a newer, more modern flair and some occult beliefs.”

“So, not your average wedding?” Crowley asked, making notes. 

Anathema gave a mischievous smile. “I try not to be average in any way.”

“I can believe that, no problem,” he said, then smiled back at her, liking her more than he’d ever dreamed he would.

Swallowing his nerves, he turned to Aziraphale. God, he was even more gorgeous than Crowley remembered. How had he gotten _more_ attractive in the last ninety seconds?

“Have you had a hard time executing this blended wedding?”

Anathema laughed. “I think he’s asking if I’ve been a bridezilla, Zira.”

Aziraphale smiled serenely at her, then turned his eyes to Crowley. They were a little more blue now. Stunning. _Focus!_

“No, this wedding hasn’t been terribly difficult, although it is rather large. Anathema and Newt have been very easy to work with, and have given me a lot of artistic license, which is nice.”

Anathema snorted. “What he means to say is that I told him I didn’t care what he did, and he’s had to hold my hand through this entire process.”

“I wouldn’t exactly put it like _that_ , dear. You had _some_ ideas and things you wanted.”

“Yes, some.”

Aziraphale smiled at her fondly, then turned that smile back to Crowley, making his pulse spike. “Anathema is such a wonderful person, so vibrant and lovely, and I’ve wanted to capture that on their big day. It was an easy decision to take her and Newt on as clients, and it’s been a delight creating a wedding to reflect their personalities.”

Crowley nodded, grateful for the recorder that was getting these quotes, because he was too fucking distracted by the angel’s plush, pink lips to be taking the notes he should be. Where the hell had his professionalism gone? _Get your shit together!_

“I, um, I understand that you’re a bit picky about taking on clients?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose you could say that I’m picky.”

“What made you choose to take Newt and Anathema on?”

Aziraphale smiled at Anathema, and Crowley felt a quick, insane burst of jealousy. “Well, it’s just impossible not to fall in love with them.” Then he turned back to Crowley, and bloody hell, that _smile_... “But on top of that, they met all my qualifications for clients.”

“Qualifications?”

“I have a list of criteria that couples must meet before I’ll agree to meet with them. They’re screened, if you will, by my assistant, Tracy. If they pass, I do an interview. I need to have a good feeling about them. If I don’t think they will be a successful married couple, I refuse to plan the wedding.”

“Do you turn down a lot of couples?”

“About sixty to seventy percent,” Aziraphale answered. 

Crowley’s jaw dropped. “You turn down two thirds of the couples who want to hire you?”

“Of those I interview, yes.”

“You see why we feel so lucky that he’d take us on?” Anathema asked, a smile in her voice - and on her face when Crowley turned to look at her. “Having Aziraphale plan your wedding almost guarantees a successful marriage. That’s why he’s known as the angel of love.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips at Anathema, but Crowley was just relieved to hear that someone else thought of this man as an angel. 

“What’s your success rate?” he asked, turning back to Aziraphale, his notes forgotten.

“My success rate?”

“Yes. How many of your couples stay together?”

“Oh. Well, it’s about ninety percent after ten years. Eighty five at fifteen.”

“Ninety percent,” Crowley marveled. “You really _are_ the angel of love.”

Aziraphale flushed adorably, looking down at his hands and smiling. Crowley wanted to kiss his pink cheeks, to feel that skin under his lips. 

“Aziraphale really is fascinating,” Anathema told Crowley, catching his attention again. “He’d make a much more interesting subject for your story than I would.”

Crowley was starting to agree. Plus, it would give him an excuse to see this man again. Hopefully more than once. But he didn’t say so, and just smiled at the bride. “I’m sure you’re just as interesting,” he lied.

Anathema narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were about to call him out on the lie, but decided better of it. Her face cleared and her expression brightened. “Well, you’re going to have plenty of time to figure that out on your own over the next four weeks. You’ll be seeing loads of each other.”

Aziraphale looked a little surprised and looked at Crowley. “You’ll be following the wedding planning?”

Crowley nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been asked to do. My story is supposed to cover the last few weeks of planning and the actual ceremony. In-depth profiles of the couple and interviews with family and friends, et cetera.” _And wedding planners,_ his brain supplied.

Something crossed Aziraphale’s face that Crowey didn’t understand, but it cleared quickly and was replaced with a smile. “I look forward to working with you, then.”

Oh, Crowley was very much looking forward to it too. Very, very much.

“What’s next?” Anathema asked, breaking the spell again. “When can we do this again?”

“We have an appointment with the florist to go over final designs on Monday, then on Thursday we simply _have_ to make a final decision about cake flavors. Next Saturday is your final gown fitting,” Aziraphale supplied.

Anathema nodded, then turned to Crowley. “Do all of those work for you?”

Crowley shrugged, feigning nonchalance. He’d be at every one of those appointments if Aziraphale were going to be there. Nevermind that it was his _job_. “Sure, I guess. I’m at your disposal.”

“Great! Then we’ll all see each other Monday at Aiden’s, on Church Street?”

“What time?” Crowley asked, jotting down the name and address of the florist.

“Three o’clock,” Aziraphale answered. 

“I’ll be there,” he promised, then reached for the recorder with a smile, turning the device off. “It’s a date. I’ll also need to do an interview with each of you individually, to get some quotes and background information.”

Anathema and Newt looked at each other, and both shrugged. “Sure, we’re available for whatever.”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, his heart trilling in his chest. “Will you also be available?”

“Me?”

“Yes. I’d like to get an interview from you, too. To add depth to the story.”

It was almost a lie. He could get everything he needed from interactions with the bride and groom, but the thought of getting Aziraphale alone was too tempting to pass up.

“I - I suppose so. Would you like to schedule something now?”

“Not yet. Let’s get through a couple of these appointments so I have a better idea of what to ask.”

“Alright.”

Crowley beamed at him, thrilled. He was going to see this angel again, several times over the next few weeks. Fucking _perfect_.

He slipped his recorder and legal pad into his messenger bag. “Alright, we have a plan. I’ll meet you at Aiden’s at three on Monday, and we’ll pick this up then. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Anathema said, her smile satisfied and her eyes twinkling. “I can’t wait.”

Oh, Crowley couldn’t either.


	3. Chapter 3

_31 August, 2020_

Aziraphale checked his watch, glancing at the time, then slipped it back into his pocket. It was not quite three and no one was late, but he was a bundle of nerves anyway. Which was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, and he chastised himself harshly. This was just another appointment with just another bride. He’d had thousands of appointments like this over the last twenty years or so, and there was no cause for nerves. Honestly, he was being so silly. 

_Except_ , a little voice in his mind reminded him, this was not just another appointment. _Crowley_ would be at this appointment. Oh, just the mention of his name in Aziraphale’s mind made him feel all aflutter. 

He’d been nearly blown away when he’d stepped into the lounge at Jasmine Cottage and saw Crowley sitting there, all long limbs and delicious angles, dressed in dark tones. His clothes had been fitted to the point of being tight, his style a bit more casual than Aziraphale would have expected from a reporter on an interview, but not shabby. He’d looked… _cool_. His hair had been vibrantly red, lit by the afternoon sun in the cottage, and artfully messy. Aziraphale had wanted to run his fingers through it, to feel the silken slide of it. And that wasn’t even taking his gorgeous face into consideration. His eyes had been obscured by dark sunglasses, which had struck Aziraphale as odd, but he’d been grateful for them. If he’d been able to look into those eyes, he may have been lost forever. What he _could_ see of Crowley’s face had been overwhelmingly attractive - angles and lines intersecting to create a simply stunning profile. Aziraphale had pinched himself multiple times to keep himself from staring. 

It had been eons since he’d had such a visceral reaction to someone, and he didn’t quite know what to do with it. Twenty years ago, when he’d been young and cute and confident, he’d have subtly flirted long enough to gauge Crowley’s receptiveness to him, then turned on the charm and set out to win a date with him - or woo him into bed. But he couldn’t do that now. For one thing, it would be horribly unprofessional to attempt to seduce someone in the course of doing his job. For another thing, he _wasn’t_ in his twenties anymore - and he didn’t look it either. He didn’t dislike the way he looked, exactly - his body served his purposes quite well - but he knew that he wasn’t the owner of the kind of body (or face) that inspired lustful thoughts. Especially not in someone as beautiful as Crowley. Why, he didn’t even know if Crowley was gay. Mark that down as another reason. 

But the _biggest_ reason he’d never pursue Crowley was that Aziraphale had long ago given up on love. He still _believed_ in love, of course - it was impossible not to, doing what he did for a living - but he’d utterly given up on the idea of finding someone of his own. He hadn’t had a proper relationship in nearly a decade, and had grown quite accustomed to being alone. He had his career, which was very fulfilling, and at home, he had his books. He was quite close with his assistant, Tracy. Every couple of weeks, he could be found at the gentlemen’s club, where he had a handful of friends. When he felt certain urges, as nearly all men did, he simply tended to them himself. On the rare occasions that that didn’t suffice, he would arrange for a rendezvous with another interested gentleman at the club, and that would take care of his needs for a while. There were never any expectations or strings attached, and Aziraphale preferred it that way. Love was something that happened to other people, and he’d made peace with that fact long ago. 

So he _really_ needed to get this infatuation with Crowley out of his system as quickly as possible. He was going to have to work with the man for the next four weeks - and possibly on other weddings in the future. He couldn’t afford to be making doe eyes at a professional contact. Oh, the reputation he’d get! No, he resolved firmly to himself, he’d conduct himself entirely professionally, and would ignore any attraction he felt towards Crowley. Why, in hindsight, he’d likely blown this ‘attraction’ wholly out of proportion, let his imagination run away with him. It was most likely that he’d seen a pretty face when he’d met Crowley and had just imagined a sudden, intense crush. When he saw Crowley today, in different circumstances and under different lighting, he’d probably not find him nearly as attractive. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him because he’d gone too long without seeing to his needs? Yes, he decided, that was probably it. He’d pay a visit to the gentlemen's club this weekend and take care of that, get his head back on straight. Excellent idea, he congratulated himself. Quite clever.

Idly, he wondered if there were any redheads that had joined the club recently, then mentally pinched himself. 

“Aziraphale!” he heard, breaking him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Anathema and Newt hand in hand, strolling down the pavement towards him. With a smile, he brushed aside the thoughts of Crowley and greeted his clients. 

“Anathema, darling, so good to see you,” he said with a little kiss to each of her cheeks. He stood straight and squeezed her hands, then turned to Newt. “And Newt. How are you both?”

“Fine,” Newt said, and Anathema smiled at her fiance, then took his hand. 

“Are you ready to make some final decisions today?”

Anathema nodded. “I did what you said and browsed Pinterest to get some ideas.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Aziraphale said approvingly. “Should we crack on, then?”

Newt looked puzzled. “Aren’t we waiting for Crowley?”

Aziraphale felt a little thrill at the sound of his name, but pushed it aside. “I’m sure he can meet us inside,” he said smoothly. 

Anathema looked over his shoulder and smiled. “No need. Here he comes now.”

Against his better judgement, Aziraphale turned around to look for Crowley. He spotted him easily, a few yards down the pavement, and his breath caught. Crowley wasn’t walking, he was _sauntering_ , his hips swaying with every step as if they weren’t really attached to his body. It was desperately, _desperately_ sexy, and Aziraphale would have cursed under his breath, had his mouth not been so dry all of the sudden. As it was, he didn’t think he could utter a word. 

Then Crowley seemed to catch sight of them and _smiled_ , and all Aziraphale’s capability for higher thought fled. 

“Hi, gang,” Crowley said brightly, a smile still spread over his frankly beautiful face. Aziraphale tried to speak, but no words would come. 

“Crowley, hi!” Anathema chirped, saving him. Aziraphale managed a smile. 

“Am I late?” Crowley asked, his smile flickering just a little.

“No, no. Not at all. We just got here ourselves,” Anathema assured him. 

Crowley’s smile brightened again. “Excellent!”

“How will this, um,” Aziraphale started, then paused when his voice came out a little rougher than he’d expected. He softened his tone and smiled at Crowley a little. Couldn’t help it, really. Blimey, he was gorgeous. “How will this work? Will you interview while we’re meeting with the florist?”

Crowley’s smile was disarming and sent butterflies straight to Aziraphale’s belly. “Oh, I won’t be in the way. I probably won’t even say much. I’ll just hang around in the corner with my notepad and make notes. You three just go about your business as if I’m not here.”

Aziraphale was one hundred percent certain that he would _not_ be able to forget that Crowley was in the room, but didn’t dare say so. He pursed his lips and nodded, catching a meaningful look from Anathema when he did. 

“Lovely,” she said, looking back at Crowley with a smile. “Shall we go?”

Crowley bent at the waist in a bow and gestured towards the door of the florist. “After you, my dear.”

Anathema and Newt smiled and went ahead. Aziraphale waited a moment for Crowley to follow, but the red haired man just turned his smile to Aziraphale. Aziraphale felt himself flush, but gave a little nod and smile of thanks, then went ahead, cursing his weakness and fluttering pulse. 

So much for the idea that he’d be less attracted to Crowley if he saw him again.

~*~O~*~

_3 September, 2020_

Crowley was fairly bouncing down the pavement, headed towards the cake tasting. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited about work - but then, he’d never come across anyone like Aziraphale while he was working the political desk. 

After their first meeting at Jasmine Cottage, Crowley had gone home with his head buzzing pleasantly, his mind full of Aziraphale. He’d spent a fair little while pacing the floor of his flat, talking through the meeting and his thoughts about it with his plants and his pet python, Freddie, but they were of no use and gave him no insight. Once he’d come down from the high, he’d decided to do what came naturally to him as a reporter: research. He’d gone to his laptop and dug up everything he could find about the wedding planner. 

There hadn’t been much, honestly. Aziraphale was quite well known and highly sought after as an event coordinator, but there was virtually no personal information about him available. He didn’t have any social media that Crowley could find, no twitter or facebook or even a professional instagram. Most of the personal information that Crowley _had_ been able to find had been basic stuff - the kind of things you’d find on a driver’s license. Aziraphale was two years older than Crowley, and his birthday was coming up in a few weeks, on 12 October. His middle name was Zachary, and he had an address in Soho. He had one car registered to his name, a 2007 Volvo wagon, which Crowley found amusing. Aziraphale apparently wasn’t married - at least, there was no marriage certificate or announcement that Crowley could find. But that was all he was able to gather, as far as personal information went. 

Professionally, he had a bit more luck. He learned that Aziraphale had worked for the same agency, Heavenly Events, for twenty years, and he found a couple of statistics to back up his claim of a 90% success rate in his couples. Crowley marveled again at that type of success. There were scads of yelp reviews, all of them four or five stars, and every review was glowing. 

Beyond that, Aziraphale Fell was shrouded in mystery - but that only excited Crowley more. He fucking _loved_ mysteries. 

The day they met at the florist, Crowley had had the instinct to try to chat him up and learn more about him, but he’d refrained. For one thing, his job was to observe and write about Newt and Anathema, and hitting on the wedding planner wouldn’t be conducive to that task. But for another thing, he’d learned over years as a reporter that sometimes, the best way to get information was to sit back and watch your subject. So he’d elected to do that with Aziraphale. He’d watched covertly from behind his glasses as Aziraphale took charge, directing questions and answers from the florist and the bride and groom, clearly in control of the situation. The confidence he showed in this role was sexy, and Crowley thoroughly enjoyed watching him work. 

Beyond that, Crowley just enjoyed looking at him. He’d thought that Aziraphale was attractive when they’d met, absolutely gorgeous, and he had been. But he’d somehow been even _more_ attractive at the florist’s shop. He was just as prim as he’d been at their first meeting, just as well-groomed in old-fashioned clothes, and Crowley rather thought he loved that. There were little wrinkles by his eyes that spoke of frequent smiles, and Crowley loved the way his nose turned up a little at the end - and the way it would scrunch when he was amused. Even though he’d barely looked in Crowley’s direction, every single smile felt like a soft blow to Crowley’s chest. He found himself wondering what kinds of things he could say or do to make Aziraphale smile at _him_ like that. What kind of jokes would make Aziraphale laugh? He very much wanted to hear the angel laugh - to know that he’d brought Aziraphale joy. 

Crowley had caught himself spending an inordinate amount of time staring at Aziraphale’s mouth. His pink lips were plush and looked pillow-soft. Crowley wanted to taste them. And then there were his hands. Good God, the man’s _hands_ were so incredibly fucking sexy. Crowley had never been attracted to anyone’s hands before in his entire life, but he found himself watching Aziraphale’s hands as he talked. Smooth skin with thick digits and neatly manicured nails suggested softness, but Crowley strongly suspected those hands held hidden strength. He wanted to feel those hands on every part of his body. 

When they’d all said their goodbyes on the pavement outside Aiden’s, Crowley had found himself absolutely smitten with the wedding planner, and desperately wanted to ask Aziraphale out on a date. But once again, he held himself back. For one thing, he didn’t know if Aziraphale was even interested in men (although he had strong suspicions). But beyond that, he didn’t think it was the right time. It was absolutely verboten for a reporter to date the subject of an article, and while Aziraphale wasn’t technically the main subject of the article he was writing, the line was blurry enough that he didn’t dare cross it. Six months ago, he would have, but he was already skating on thin ice with Beezle. One misstep could have him losing his job - permanently. 

A small, quiet voice inside him said that losing his job would be entirely worth it, if it meant he got to date Aziraphale. He tried to ignore it. 

So he resolved to himself to play it cool, to get to know Aziraphale as best he could over the course of the next couple of weeks, when they saw each other during wedding planning, and then to maybe - _maybe_ \- ask Aziraphale out after his story on the Device wedding was filed and published. He’d be in the clear then and free to date the wedding planner, if he wanted to. In the meantime, he’d treat Aziraphale like the subject of an article and learn as much about him as possible. 

Today, they were meeting at Anton’s Cakes, an upscale bakery not far from Crowley’s flat in Mayfair. The appointment was in fifteen minutes, and Crowley was only about five minutes away. He hoped that if he got there early, he’d have a few minutes to chat up Aziraphale before Newt and Anathema arrived. He sauntered down the pavement, his black messenger bag on his shoulder, and there was a bit of a spring to his step that he couldn’t help. His mind was full of the possibility of talking to Aziraphale, of learning everything there was to know about him, and maybe - _maybe_ \- eventually, to date him. He couldn’t wait. 

His already great mood lifted even more when he spotted Aziraphale up ahead, waiting on the pavement. He was alone, just as Crowley had hoped, and Crowley beamed with pleasure. Excellent. 

“Aziraphale!” he called when he got near enough, raising his hand in salute. The blond man turned and spotted him, and he had an almost startled look before his face relaxed into a smile. 

“Crowley. How lovely to see you,” he said politely.

“Good to see you, too,” Crowley answered with a grin, coming to a stop a couple of feet away from him. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m quite well. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain. Have you been waiting long?”

“Oh, no. I just arrived a few moments ago.”

“Good, good.” Crowley glanced over at the storefront, then back to Aziraphale. “So! Anton’s. I’ve never been here. Is it good?”

“One of the very best in town,” Aziraphale confirmed. 

“Do you come here often?”

“I do, actually. For work, you know. Their cakes are second to none taste-wise, and they’re always lovely to look at, too. Quite a lot of my couples come here.”

Crowley glanced back over at the display window. There were several beautifully-decorated cakes in the window, but he didn’t see much else. “Do they only do cakes?”

“Oh, heavens no. Anton’s does a full range of desserts. I’m especially fond of their fruit danishes.”

“Fruit danishes, hmm?” Crowley asked, filing this information away for later.

“Yes. Particularly the cherry danishes. But I try to only indulge every now and again.” He patted his tummy. “They’re not that great for the waistline.”

Crowley wanted to tell him that he should have all the danishes he wanted, that his waist was soft and sweet and _perfect_ , but he bit his lip to hold himself back. 

He was a bit surprised when Aziraphale’s cheeks pinkened a little. “I’m sorry,” the blond man said. ”Nattering on about baked goods. You must think me a terrible bore.”

“On the contrary. I think you’re fascinating.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “You do?”

Crowley nodded, still smiling. “Absolutely. In fact, I’m wondering why no one has done an article about you, like Anathema suggested.”

“About _me_?”

“Yes, of course. The ‘angel of love’ and all that. Granted, I don’t know much about you beyond the surface details, but what I’ve learned about you so far is intriguing.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were glowing. “I’m not… truly, I’m just a wedding planner. The focus should remain on the bride and groom. I’m nobody special.”

Crowley opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the sound of Anathema calling their names. Both men looked up, and Crowley cursed the timing. He’d been perfectly happy chatting Aziraphale up and skipping this appointment, but now it was time for him to do his job. He plastered on a smile he didn’t exactly feel and turned to face the bride and groom.

“How are you, dear?” Aziraphale asked when he greeted Anathema with a kiss to each cheek. 

“I’m good! Excited to try these cakes. How are you two?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. 

Anathema looked to Crowley. “How about you, Crowley? Doing alright?”

“I’m doing fine,” he answered. “Like you, I’m ready to taste these cakes.”

Anathema’s eyes twinkled. “So you’ll be participating in today’s appointment?”

He grinned at her. “Far be it from me to turn down cake.”

“Excellent!”

“Shall we go inside?” Aziraphale suggested, and the foursome made their way inside the bakery. 

They were met by a tall man in a chef’s outfit who greeted Aziraphale warmly, with kisses on each cheek. Aziraphale introduced the man as Anton, the owner of the bakery. Once hands had been shaken, Anton led them to a small but elegantly decorated room containing a round table set for four. Crowley took a seat between Anathema to his left and Aziraphale to his right, pleased with this development. 

“Now,” said Anton, clasping his hands in front of himself. “I’ve got the sketches of what you want your cake to look like, and we’ll very easily be able to accommodate that. But today, we’ll need to decide on flavors. Do you have any hard limits? Anything you absolutely do not want?”

“Newt is allergic to coconut,” Anathema volunteered. “Beyond that, the sky's the limit.” 

“Wonderful! I’ll just go and get some tasting slices for you lot to try and we’ll get started, shall we? I’ll be back in a flash.”

He exited the room, leaving the foursome to sit at the table, and Crowley was preparing to ask to get out his recorder when Anathema said brightly, “So! What did you two talk about before we got here?”

“Anathema!” Newt admonished.

“What? I’m just making conversation,” she told her fiance innocently, then looked back and forth between Crowley and Aziraphale with twinkling eyes. 

“Nothing of any consequence, dear,” Aziraphale answered, although he looked a little flustered again. “Crowley was just asking about the bakery.”

“Yes. I’ve never been here.”

She raised an eyebrow and once again, Crowley got the feeling that she knew something - more than she should. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, still looking a bit flushed. 

“That’s a shame. You two should talk more. I’d be willing to bet you have a lot in common.”

Now Crowley could feel his own cheeks heating. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged delicately. “Just a hunch.”

“Her hunches are usually right, though,” Newt volunteered.

Crowley was afraid to look at Aziraphale and was dying for a change of subject, so he cleared his throat. “While we’re waiting, I need to set up individual interviews with the three of you. When would be good?” 

“Oh, anytime,” Anathema said with an airy wave. “How about next Thursday?”

“Thursday is fine.”

“Great! I’ll text you to set up a time. Will you want Newt there, as well?”

“That would be ideal. I can interview you separately, then together.”

“I’ll be there,” Newt promised. “After work, of course.”

Crowley swallowed hard, then turned to Aziraphale. “How about you?”

“I still don’t see what good an interview with me would do.”

“It adds depth to the story. Are you willing?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course. Name the day.”

“How about the following Tuesday? The fifteenth?” Anathema suggested, catching Crowley by surprise. “Venus is in pisces that day. It would be a good day for you two to talk.”

Crowley had less than no idea what she was talking about, but wasn’t so stupid he didn’t know what she was doing. Part of him appreciated it.

“The fifteenth works for me,” he shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant.

“Yes, I think we should be able to find some time on the fifteenth,” Aziraphale agreed, giving him a soft smile. 

Crowley beamed at him, thrilled, but didn’t get to say anything before Anton returned, carrying a large tray laden with slices of cake. As he distributed them, he explained what each flavor was, and each one sounded better than the last. When he’d finished, he made an expansive gesture to the table at large. “Bon appetit.”

“Thank you, Anton,” Aziraphale said politely, then picked up his fork. The rest of the table followed suit. 

Crowley was having a hard time deciding which piece to try first, his fork hovering in the air, when he heard it. It was a moan, a nearly pornographic sound that Crowley had never heard anywhere outside of a bedroom - or in an x-rated film. With wide eyes and his fork still hovering, he turned to look at the source of the sound.

Aziraphale had his eyes closed, a rapturous look on his face as he chewed. Crowley was sure he was gaping, but couldn’t help himself. As he watched, Aziraphale swallowed his food, looked up at Anton with a warm smile, and said, “Scrummy as always, Anton. You always outdo yourself.”

Crowley figured the moment had passed and shook himself to refocus his thoughts. He’d just decided on a cake to taste and speared a piece when the sound came again and he nearly dropped his fork. The sound went straight to his cock, and Crowley wanted nothing more in that moment than to make Aziraphale make that sound again, preferably while Crowley was pushing him up against a wall, sucking on his neck.

“Are you alright, Crowley?” Anathema asked, her eyes sparkling and her mouth curved into a smirk.

“Fine! I’m fine. Just fine. Good cake,” he said, even though he hadn’t tasted it yet. To shut himself up, he crammed his bite into his own mouth and tried to concentrate on the flavors - and _not_ the erotic sounds Aziraphale was making. 

Bloody hell, he was in _trouble_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me take this opportunity to plead forgiveness for my ignorance in matters of astrology and later in the story, tarot. I tried, but I'm quite certain I got more than a few things wrong. Hopefully it won't detract from your enjoyment of the story.


	4. Chapter 4

_9 September, 2020_

Aziraphale glanced up when the intercom on his desk went off. 

“Aziraphale, Anathema Device is here,” came Tracy’s voice. 

He smiled and leaned over to press the button to answer. “Very good. Send her in.”

Aziraphale got to his feet behind his desk, smoothing his waistcoat, then circled around to go meet Anathema at the door. He was nearly there when the door opened and the brunette breezed in. 

“Anathema,” he greeted her, his smile warm and genuine. He wasn’t supposed to make friends with clients, but, well, Anathema was a special case. He’d grown terribly fond of her while they’d worked together, and they’d had more than a few lunches over the course of the last four or five months that had been nearly entirely free of any talk of the wedding. They’d shared conversations that were much more intimate than he probably should have allowed, discussing in great detail the types of things only dear friends talked about, but he very much enjoyed her insight - when it wasn’t tinged with the occult. He hoped to continue their friendship after she married. 

They pressed kisses to each other’s cheeks, as had become their custom, and Aziraphale squeezed her hand. “How are you, dear?”

She laughed. “Pretty much the same as I was yesterday, and the day before that.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, it does seem as if we’re seeing each other rather often, doesn’t it? But that's the way it goes at this stage of planning a wedding.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Anathema assured him, taking a seat on the couch in his sitting area. “I’m going to miss all this time with you. I’m thinking of collecting you and keeping you forever.”

He gave a delighted laugh. “I’m sure you’d get tired of me before long.”

“Doubtful.” Anathema arranged her skirts while Aziraphale sat in his usual armchair. “Maybe we really should do lunch every couple of weeks after I’m married. Or even once a week.”

Aziraphale pretended to consider this. “Hmm. I typically avoid developing personal relationships with my clients, but I rather think I could make an exception for you, dear.”

“Yay!” Anathema said excitedly, clapping her hands together like a small child. It made Aziraphale laugh.

“So,” she said when she’d settled. “What needs to happen today?”

“We have just a few things to go over, really. Most of the decisions have been made, but we _do_ need to decide on gifts for the attendants.”

“I have no idea what to give them. No idea at all. What do you suggest?”

“Well, jewelry is always a nice gift. You can gift them with the jewelry you’d like them to wear in your wedding, or you can give them something more personal. I’ve had several brides give something like a pendant, or a little charm to go on a bracelet.”

“That would be nice, I suppose. What about a book?”

“Well, sure, you could give each of them a nice leather journal with their name embossed on it.”

“No, I meant a book they might find useful. Prophecies or something. Oh!” she exclaimed, looking excited by a new idea. “I could do a reading for each of them! Star charts or tarot - or a more comprehensive reading, with both. Tell them their futures!”

Aziraphale smiled patiently. “I’m sure they’d all appreciate that very much, but I would be remiss if I didn’t encourage you to give each of them a little something physical, too. Something they can touch.”

Anathema waved an airy hand. “Sure, that’s fine. Just buy whatever you think they should have. Money is no object.”

He resisted the urge to sigh. He should have expected something like this. Anathema was very non-traditional, and most of the usual wedding customs were of little interest to her. It made her unique and added to her charm. It also made her a little difficult to work with sometimes. 

“I’ll come up with something lovely,” he promised. “Now, you have the hen do this weekend --”

“You mean the bachelorette party?” she asked with a quirked smile. 

“Yes, just so. Everything should be ready for that. All you’ll be required to do is show up and have fun.”

“It’s a shame you can’t go to that,” Anathema said, her mouth in a small pout.

Aziraphale smiled kindly. “That’s sweet of you, dear, but I’m afraid having a middle-aged man join your party would be no fun. I’m a bit of a wet blanket.”

She looked at him with furrowed brows. “You are not. I think you’re loads of fun.”

“Thank you, my dear. I’m fond of you, too. Now, moving on…”

“You know who else I think would be fun at a party?”

“Who?”

Anathema smiled mischievously. “Crowley.”

Aziraphale felt a pulse of electricity race through his body at the mention of the name, but did his best not to let on. “I’m sure he’s very fun,” he said casually. “But as I was saying --”

“You should ask him out,” Anathema interrupted.

Another pulse of electricity. “Ask him out to do what?” he asked, playing dumb, hoping it would somehow work, knowing it wouldn’t.

Anathema rolled her eyes playfully. “On a date. Duh.”

Aziraphale hadn’t been on a proper date in many years - hadn’t really felt the desire or need to date - but since he’d met Crowley a couple of weeks ago, he’d been wondering why not. He’d had Crowley on his mind nearly constantly since they’d met, his daydreams and fantasies growing more detailed every time he saw the reporter. He’d constructed elaborate scenarios where he and Crowley could be alone and Aziraphale would be brave enough to tell Crowley just how attractive he found him. In his daydreams, Crowley was _definitely_ gay and _definitely_ interested, and they always ended up in a heated kiss. When Aziraphale was alone, he’d let his mind wander further, occasionally taking himself in hand, deep in a fantasy of touching and kissing Crowley. 

More alarming to him were the daydreams he had about doing _romantic_ things with Crowley. He fantasized about the two of them going to a play together, or strolling through the park, holding hands. He thought of taking Crowley out to dinner, or the two of them cooking together in his flat, then cuddling on the couch together. Couple-y things. Things he hadn’t had in well over a decade and had convinced himself he didn’t want. 

But afterwards, he’d always chastise himself for being silly. Crowley was quite probably _not_ gay, and even if he was, what interest would he have in a paunchy, bookish old wedding planner? None at all, that’s how much. Aziraphale was a realist. He knew what he was and what he wasn’t, and he wasn’t generally attractive to sexy, suave men who were probably straight. Besides that, he’d learned long ago, through trial and error, that love wasn’t in the cards for him. So he did his best to push aside thoughts of dating Crowley, of being his boyfriend. It was a silly daydream.

Anathema was clearly waiting for him to say something, so he gave her a gentle smile. “I don’t think so, dear.”

“Why not?”

He felt the smallest flash of annoyance, but tamped it down. “I just don’t think it would be a very good idea.”

“I disagree. I think it’s an outstanding idea, and the stars back me up.”

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, curious despite himself. “The stars?”

“Yes, the stars. I’ve run your charts for compatibility, based on your birth dates, and you’re _very_ compatible, astrologically speaking. I could get a much more thorough read if you would give me your exact time of birth. I’m sure I could convince Crowley to give me his.”

“I don’t think I should like to make decisions about who to spend time with based on astrology, dear.”

“No?”

“No, I think not.”

“What about auras?”

Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Anathema, dear, I adore you, but I have to tell you that I tend not to believe in such new age things as astrology and auras.”

“Yes, I sensed that you were a non-believer from the beginning, but it would be irresponsible for me not to tell you all of this.”

He didn’t question how it could be _irresponsible_. “That’s very much appreciated,” he lied. “Now, if we can get back to the topic at hand…”

Anathema waved dismissively. “I‘m bored talking about the wedding for now. I’d rather talk about you.”

“I assure you, the wedding is a much more interesting topic.”

“You should ask him out,” she said again. 

Aziraphale didn’t pretend to be dense this time, but he was growing a little frustrated. “No,” he said simply. 

“Why not? Give me one _good_ reason and I’ll leave you alone about it.”

Hoping to get her off his case, he said, “I don’t think I’m his type.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw, but kept his expression bland. “I’m not sure he favors men,” he said pointedly. 

“I’ve seen him looking at you in a way that no straight man would ever look at another man. He _might_ be bi, but if he’s straight, I’ll eat my shoe. Besides, his aura is all over the place when he’s near you. It’s a marked difference from when you’re not around. He’s _definitely_ attracted to you.”

Despite himself, Aziraphale felt a thrill at those words. Crowley, attracted to him? He shook himself quickly. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, almost under his breath, his words laced with disappointment.

“That was the one _good_ reason you gave me why you couldn’t date, and I’m telling you it’s a non-issue. So give me another reason.”

“Crowley and I need to keep a professional relationship. If he’s going to be reporting on weddings, we’re likely to have to work together even after your wedding.”

“That’s another bullshit excuse. For one thing, people date each other within the industry all the time. I know perfectly well that your assistant, Tracy, is married to the caterer, Shadwell, and she met him through work. But even if that _were_ a valid excuse, him working at the society desk is temporary. My dad is on the board of the Hellfire Times and I had him ask around about Crowley. This is basically just a time-out. He’ll be going back to the political desk soon. So _that_ excuse is a non-starter, too. Try again.”

“You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?” Aziraphale responded tartly, his patience wearing thin. 

Anathema smiled. “Now you’re catching on. Nope! I’m not leaving this alone until you give me one _good_ reason why you shouldn’t date.”

“I’ve just given you two.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve given me two flimsy excuses. I want the truth.”

Aziraphale scowled at her, then looked away, frustrated. She leaned forward and put one hand on his knee. “Come on, Zira. Be honest with me. What’s holding you back? I know you’re attracted to him.”

“I’m not!”

“You are. Don’t lie to me, please. I can tell just by looking at you when the two of you are in the same room. The sparks between you two are hot enough to burn. That’s not even _touching_ on your auras. And, most telling of all, when I asked you for a reason why you wouldn’t ask him out, you didn’t say ‘because I’m not attracted to him’. That hasn’t even been mentioned. So I know you _are_.”

Aziraphale had finally had enough. Totally exasperated (and more than a little caught out), he threw up his hands and said, “Alright, fine. You want the truth? I _am_ attracted to him. There. Are you happy now?”

“No, because you won’t tell me why you won’t ask him out.”

He set his jaw mulishly, fuming, and Anathema squeezed his knee again. “Tell me the truth, Aziraphale.”

“You want the truth?”

“Please.”

He sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes hard enough to see stars. “You’re going to mock me.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

He paused. “...I don’t believe in love.”

She looked like she’d been dropped in a vat of cold water. “You _what_?”

“I don’t believe in love.”

She blinked. “You have to. You’re a wedding planner, for heaven’s sake!”

“Yes, but I’ve also been on this earth for forty-two years, and have never been in love.”

It appeared as if he’d shocked her. “Never?”

“No. I’ve had some infatuations and crushes, certainly, and I’ve had some very nice relationships with warm feelings towards my partner. But in all my years, I’ve never felt the kind of love I see every day. The kind of love you and Newt have, for example. I’ve no idea what it would be like to feel that. It’s never happened for me.”

She stared at him for a moment, still clearly surprised, then shook her head a little. “You've just never met the right man.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Anathema, my dear. I don’t believe that the ‘right man’ exists. Not for me.”

“You’re wrong,” she replied simply. “Everyone has a soulmate. You just haven’t found him yet.”

“Everyone but me,” he retorted. “Now, my dear, if you please, I’ve given you the best possible reason why I shouldn’t date Crowley. Can we _please_ get back to the subject of your wedding?”

Anathema’s lips were pursed and her brows were furrowed. She didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “Alright, fine. We can talk about the wedding. But I still think you should ask him out. Putting aside what your star charts say and the fact that your auras practically glisten when you’re together, I can’t help but notice that when he’s around, there’s something about you that’s _lighter_. Happier. And I want you to have that happiness all the time. Ask him out. You may surprise yourself.”

The idea of asking him out was so tempting, but Aziraphale had already revealed enough. “Your opinion is noted,” he said in a tone that he hoped indicated that the conversation was over. “Now can we move on?”

“Yes. Just as long as you know what I think on the matter.”

“You’ve made it abundantly clear, my dear.”

“Good. Now, what’s next?”

~*~O~*~

_10 September, 2020_

Crowley was getting frustrated. He’d been ‘interviewing’ Anathema for nearly an hour, but the heiress kept changing the subject - most frequently to Aziraphale. As much as Crowley liked thinking about Aziraphale, though, he had a story to write and the bride-to-be was _not_ helping. 

Trying not to show his frustration, he gave a smile he hoped didn’t look too forced. “Tell me about how you met Newt.”

“It was foretold by a prophecy.”

Crowley did his best to keep his expression bland, but wasn’t sure he was successful. Apparently he didn’t, because Anathema smiled kindly and said, “It’s okay. I get that reaction a lot.”

“It was foretold by a _prophecy_?” he repeated. 

Anathema nodded. “Yes. My ancestor, Agnes Nutter, was a witch, you see. She wrote a book of prophecies, all of which were nice and accurate. It’s how my family has made its fortune, and it’s why my father’s company is called PropheCorp. Because it, like so many other things, was foretold by a prophecy.” 

He blinked stupidly. She may have been descended from nutters - literally - but Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling that a drunken conversation with Anathema Device might just be the most entertaining of his life. 

Recovering, he said, “I’d love to hear more about that later, about a company founded on prophecy, but for right now, I need to focus on the prophecy that led you to Newt.”

She smiled serenely. “Of course. It was foretold that he’d have a car accident on 29th August, 2019 at quarter past four, and that he’d come to me for help. Like all of Agnes’ prophecies, it happened, just as she’d said.”

“So he crashed his car near your cottage and… what? You fell in love while tending to his injuries?”

“Something like that,” she replied with a dismissive wave. “It took a bit of work to convince him we were meant to be together, that we were soulmates, but he eventually caught on.”

Crowley amended his earlier thought - a conversation with _Newt_ about all of this might just be the most interesting of his life. It was a tossup, really.

“But he agreed with you eventually, apparently.”

Anathema smiled brightly. “Yes. I convinced him after a little while.” 

“How did you do that?”

“I proved to him that he was the descendant of the witchfinder that had burned Agnes at the stake and showed him the prophecies. It didn’t take too long to bring him around.”

Crowley was frantically making notes and grateful for his recorder.

“So are you gay?”

His pen veered off the side of the page, leaving a dark line, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. “I’m _sorry_?”

“Are you gay?”

He wasn’t dumb enough to pretend not to know what she was getting at, and predicted Aziraphale’s name would be dropped very soon. Crowley glanced at the recorder. He was going to have a lot of editing to do. 

“Remember, you promised not to lie to me,” she reminded him. 

“I’m not preparing to lie, I’m just taken aback by your question. What does that have to do with your wedding?”

“Nothing at all. Or maybe it does. So are you?”

“I’m bisexual.”

She smiled brightly. “Excellent. So about Aziraphale…”

He fought down a sigh. This interview was going to have to be _heavily_ edited before he could let Bee listen to it. 

“What about him?”

“You like him,” she accused, still smiling.

Crowley jotted a note on his legal pad, pretending aloofness he didn’t feel. “I hardly know him, but he seems nice.”

“Nice,” she repeated, deadpan. 

“Yes, nice. Now, when did you know you’d fallen in love? With Newt, that is.”

Anathema ignored him. “Why don’t you ask him out?”

Crowley gave her a look that was almost (but not quite) a sneer. “I don’t usually make a habit of asking out people’s fiancees.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Not Newt. Aziraphale. And you knew what I meant.”

He shrugged, hoping she’d lay off, knowing she wouldn’t. “Just don’t think it would be a good idea. Now, back to Newt…”

“You _like_ him, though,” she persisted.

Crowley didn’t try to hide his sigh this time. “As I’ve just said, I think he’s nice. That’s all. Now if we could please…”

Anathema ignored him again, as he’d suspected she would. Her lips were pursed and her brows knit. “Didn’t you and I agree to be honest with each other?”

“I’ve _been_ honest with you,” he almost snapped. 

“No, you’re not. You’re not telling me the whole truth. You like-like him. Romantically. You’re interested.”

Crowley muttered derisively, “ _Like-like_. You make me sound like a bloody teenager.”

“But I’m _right_.”

He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses out of the way so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Bloody hell. She was as infuriating as she was intriguing. A fucking force of nature. 

With his hand still on his face, his face turned up in silent entreaty to a deity he didn’t believe in, he asked, “If we talk about this, will you _promise_ we can get back to my questions? I don’t fancy losing my job.”

“As long as you’re honest with me,” she answered brightly. 

One more heavy sigh, then he sat up, resigned, and leaned forward to press the stop button on his recorder. All of this would need to be edited out later, and there was no sense recording it, making more work for himself. 

That done, he looked up at Anathema’s expectant face and admitted out loud what he’d only admitted to Freddie and his plants thus far. “Yes. I like him. Like-like, as you say.”

Anathema squealed a little, clapping her hands excitedly. “I knew it!”

“How on earth could you have possibly known?" he asked, genuinely curious. He’d thought he’d been fairly covert.

“Oh, lots of ways. You look at him like he hung the moon, for one thing. I’ve caught you staring at him more than once. And then there’s the matter of your aura…”

“I don’t believe in that,” he said bluntly. “You asked me to be honest with you, and I am. I don’t believe in auras and all that.”

Anathema gave a little unconcerned shrug. “It doesn’t change it if you don’t believe it. Truth is truth.”

Crowley wanted to argue, but didn’t. It wasn’t worth the headache. He’d learned long ago, on the political desk, that zealots couldn’t be converted. 

“Well, he likes you too.”

He couldn’t help the snark that escaped. “You can tell by _his_ aura, I take it?”

“Yes,” Anathema answered, unconcerned. “But that’s not all. He’s done a fair amount of looking at you, too. And on top of that, he admitted it to me.”

Crowley felt a full-body thrill at that and couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he told me yesterday. And Newt and I have both caught him looking at you when he thought no one would notice.”

He ducked his head to hide his pleased smile. Aziraphale was attracted to him, too? Fuck, he felt like blushing. 

“You should ask him out,” she said again. 

That happy little bubble popped when he remembered reality. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“No, I mean, I _can’t_. He’s the subject of an article I’m writing.”

“ _I’m_ the subject of the article,” she pointed out, aiming her finger at her chest. 

“Well, at the very least, he’s a source.”

“And?”

“ _And_ it goes against my ethics to date a source.”

Anathema waved him off. “Ethics, schmethics. That’s an excuse.”

“It’s not. It’s a line I’ve never crossed, and I’m not willing to start now.”

“But he could be your soulmate!”

 _Fuck_ , Crowley would _love_ to think that. He’d love nothing more than to be linked to Aziraphale - in any way, but especially romantically. But he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You _can_ , you just _won’t_. What do you have to lose?”

“My job!” Crowley burst out. “I damn near got sacked less than three weeks ago. If my editor found out I was even _thinking_ of dating a source…”

“He won’t be your source forever,” she pointed out reasonably. “My wedding is in a little over two weeks. After that, you won’t have to work with him anymore.”

That idea had been rattling around in his brain for over a week, but he wasn’t quite ready to be that honest. Not even with himself.

“I’ll still be on the society desk. That’s not likely to change in two weeks. So there’s a good chance I _will_ have to work with him.”

“Then you trade with another reporter if you get assigned to another wedding he’s doing,” she said, as if it were simple. 

Crowley let out a huge breath and scrubbed his face with his hands. Then he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Look, yes. I’m attracted to him. I don’t know him well at all, but I’d very much _like_ to get to know him better. But if I do something inappropriate, even a _little_ bit inappropriate, I’ll be ruined. Disgraced. If I tried to find another job now, as it is, it’d be an uphill battle. If word got out I’d dated a source _while I was still on the story_ , I’d never work again. I’d be reduced to blogging or some shit.”

“Ask him out in two weeks, then.”

Oh, how Crowley wanted to. “That’s still a little dangerous.”

“My father is on the board of directors for your paper. He wouldn’t let you be fired. Not if I didn’t want him to.”

“Your father is only one man.”

“A very _powerful_ man. Influential. What if I could guarantee you’d keep your job? Would you ask him out then?”

“Yes,” he answered simply and honestly. “I would. After your wedding, though.”

Anathema’s smile was radiant. “Excellent. That’s excellent news. I think you should prepare yourself to ask for a date in two weeks.”

Crowley felt a bubble of excitement he couldn’t help. Could this really be happening? “You think you can really save my job?”

“I know I can,” she replied confidently. 

_Christ_ , he hoped so. The idea of dating Aziraphale, of actually _dating_ him - it felt like his blood had been replaced with champagne. The good shit. He couldn’t help the smile that covered his entire face. 

“And you think he’s interested in me.”

“I know he is. He just needs a little bit of wooing, in my opinion.”

“In that case, I’ll ask him out the very day after the article comes out.”

“Great! You two are going to be a _fantastic_ couple. Your star charts are _beautifully_ aligned.”

Crowley was so excited about the prospect of being able to ask Aziraphale out that he didn’t even blink at the mention of the star charts. 

“Your interview with him is Thursday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“We’re meeting at a coffee shop near his office.”

“Hm. What are you wearing?”

Crowley looked down at himself and shrugged. “Something like this, I suppose.”

She gave him an assessing look. “That would be fine, I guess. But you should definitely wear the cologne you’re wearing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s very sexy.”

He preened a little at being called sexy. “Before we get back to the interview, do you have any tips for me? Pertaining to Aziraphale?”

“Just be yourself. He likes you, he’s just shy about it. If I were you, I’d spend the time in your interview letting him know you’re interested. Flirting with him. Not too much, just enough. Be subtle about it..”

Subtle. Crowley could do subtle. Couldn’t he? Of course he could. For the chance to be with Aziraphale, he could do anything.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, feeling a hope he hadn’t felt in years upon years.

“You’re welcome,” Anathema replied, her smile bright. 

“Now, can we get back to the interview?”

“Yes, of course.”

Crowley leaned forward and switched the recorder back on.


	5. Chapter 5

_15 September, 2020_

When Aziraphale arrived at the coffee shop on Thursday afternoon for his interview, Crowley was waiting on the pavement outside. Aziraphale had to fight the thrill he felt when he saw him. He looked the same as he always did, slouching elegantly in tight black trousers with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses on, looking like temptation incarnate. It really was terribly unfair for him to be so very attractive.

His heart fluttered when Crowley looked up at him, a smile lighting up his whole face. Aziraphale couldn’t help it, he smiled in return.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Crowley greeted.

“Hello,” he answered, still smiling.

They stood on the pavement for just a moment, looking at each other, and Aziraphale wished (not for the first time) that Crowley wasn’t wearing sunglasses. He’d very much like to see Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley gestured to the front door of the coffee shop. “Shall we?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes. After you, dear.”

Crowley held the door politely for him, and Aziraphale gave him another small smile as he passed. They made their way to the counter and stood there, side-by-side, looking up at the chalkboard that listed the shop’s offerings.

“I’ve never been here. What’s good?” Crowley asked.

“Everything I’ve ever had has been very good,” Aziraphale replied.

“Hmm, I never really drink anything so fancy. Usually I just drink my coffee black.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Well I feel confident that they can accommodate you.”

“What are you having?”

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said, turning back to the board. “It’s a bit late in the day for coffee. If I drink caffeine now, I’m likely to have difficulties sleeping.”

“I never have difficulties sleeping,” Crowley told him with a lopsided grin that made Aziraphale’s insides clench. He wanted to see that smile all the time.

“Yes, well, that must be nice. I think I’ll have the cocoa. Their cocoa is divine.”

“That sounds good. I think I’ll have one too.”

They ordered their cocoas - for here and with extra whip for Aziraphale - and paid. Crowley picked up the check, making Aziraphale stammer a thank you. Then Crowley steered them to a table in the corner, near the window. Aziraphale took his seat gingerly, and gave Crowley a tentative smile when he took his place across from him.

“Do you mind if I make notes while we talk?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, of course not. I expected you to record our conversation today.”

“Nah,” Crowley said, leaning over to reach inside his messenger bag, extending his long neck. The line of his jaw was so strong, so _perfect_ , Aziraphale wanted to press kisses there, to taste him.

He shook himself from his little daydream when he realized Crowley was speaking. Embarrassed, he was forced to ask, “What did you say, dear?”

Crowley lay a notepad down on the table and smiled at Aziraphale, making his belly flutter. “I said I wouldn’t be recording today. It’s a bit too crowded in here, and people sometimes get weird when they see a recorder sitting out. Besides, this is mostly just a casual chat. I don’t think we’ll need it.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale agreed. To occupy his hands, he picked up his cocoa, blew on it, then took a sip, his eyes never leaving Crowley.

Crowley’s answering smile was brilliant. “Excellent. Let’s get started, shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s.” Maybe if they were talking about weddings, Aziraphale would be able to control his thoughts a bit better.

Crowley picked up his pen and poised it over the paper. “Tell me about Anathema and Newt. How did you start working together?”

Yes. A neutral topic. Good.

“I’m not quite sure how they found me, to be honest. I’ve never asked. I do know that they completed my screening questionnaire about nine months ago, and Tracy scheduled a consultation with them shortly after.”

“Tracy?”

“Shadwell, my assistant.”

“The conversation went well, I take it?”

Aziraphale laughed a little at the memory. “It was certainly memorable. Anathema - well, you know how she is. She whirled into my office like a dervish, Newt trailing behind. She told me that I was ‘destined’ to be her wedding planner, that the stars had foretold it or some such.”

Crowley smirked. “Yes, I can imagine she did something like that.”

“Indeed. I don’t typically respond well to nonsense like that or to such _forceful_ personalities, and nearly ended the conversation by telling them they’d need to find another planner. But Newt seemed to realize what was happening and gently told Anathema to rein it in a bit, which she did. He tempers her. Once she was being a bit less… _brash_ , I was charmed by her. It wasn’t hard to decide to take them on.”

“Did anything in particular tip your hand?”

“No, not really. I just got a good feeling about them, watching them together.”

“That good feeling is a requirement before you work with a couple, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale nodded, taking another sip of his cocoa. “Yes. I won’t work with a couple I doubt will be successful.”

Crowley made notes on his notepad, and Aziraphale watched his hand as it wrote. His fingers were long and slender, and Aziraphale wondered what they’d feel like against his skin, over his body.

Even more worryingly, he wondered what those long fingers would feel like threaded between his.

Crowley was still writing, but spoke anyway. “One day, I’d very much like to ask more questions about your process for selecting couples. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.”

“It’s not terribly uncommon, although it _is_ a bit uncommon for me to be as selective as I am.”

Crowley looked up at him. “Why are you so selective?”

“Well, I wasn’t always as picky as I am now. When I was first starting out in the industry I could hardly afford to be. I had to take what clients I could get, at first. But it didn’t take long for me to build a reputation, and as my reputation grew, so did my selectiveness. I only wanted to work with couples I thought would be successful in married life.”

“Well, whatever your methods or reasoning, it seems to have worked. Your reputation as the ‘angel of love’ is well known.”

Aziraphale gave a pleased smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Crowley paused to take a sip of his cocoa, and Aziraphale watched with rapt attention as he parted his lips and took a drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and Aziraphale swallowed reflexively. When he pulled the cup away from his mouth, there was a little foam on his upper lip and Aziraphale had the wild impulse to lick it. He stared at it helplessly, at war with himself. Before he could do something foolish, however, Crowley darted out his pink tongue and licked the foam away. Aziraphale felt himself twitch in his trousers beneath the table and looked away hurriedly.

“Tell me about _working_ with Anathema and Newt,” Crowley asked, oblivious to Aziraphale’s lustful thoughts.

Aziraphale cleared his throat lightly and turned back to Crowley with a smile he hoped was benign. “Anathema has been a delight. She’s a big personality, and it’s been wonderful working with her, getting to know her. We’ve become close - closer than I probably should have, but she’s just so charming.”

“I gather that the wedding is going to be… eclectic.”

He laughed lightly. “A bit, yes. She has wanted to incorporate some aspects that are definitely untraditional, but they’ll be lovely, nonetheless.”

“Has she been difficult?”

“Not anymore than any other bride. They can _all_ be a bit trying at times, but I’ve very much enjoyed working with Anathema. And dear Newt, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley agreed with a smile. Then he surprised Aziraphale when he laid his pen down. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

“Planning weddings.”

“Oh, very much so. One of the biggest days in anyone’s life is the day they get married. I like to make that day as special as I can for people.”

“What about you?”

Aziraphale was confused. “What about me?”

“Do you want your own memorable day?”

“I’ve had lots of memorable days,” he deflected.

Crowley wasn’t having it. “That’s not what I meant.”

Aziraphale didn’t look up from where he was tracing the handle of his cup. “No, I figured not.”

“Is happily ever after not something you’re interested in?”

He fought the urge to squirm. “You’re not making notes.”

“I know. This is just for me.”

Aziraphale felt his heart thudding against his ribcage. “Just for you?”

Crowley gave him an absolutely _devastating_ smirk. “Yes, for me. I’m asking because I’m curious.”

“Well, that’s very nosy of you,” he chided, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

That didn’t dim Crowley’s smile. “I’m a reporter. I’m supposed to be nosy.”

“Yes, I suppose you are,” he allowed.

“I’ll leave it alone for now,” Crowley said and Aziraphale relaxed a little.

“Thank you, dear.”

“No problem. So, are you single?”

Aziraphale nearly inhaled his sip of cocoa and had a little coughing fit. Which was fortunate, in a way, because he needed a minute to gather his thoughts. Crowley, for his part, just sat there and smiled mischievously.

Once he had recovered, Aziraphale still didn’t know what to say.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked, smiling.

“Yes, quite. I’m just taken by surprise, is all. What on earth would make you ask _that_?”

“Anathema is under the impression that you are.”

 _Anathema_. Of course.

“I, um, yes. I am quite single.”

Crowley's grin widened. “That’s good to know.”

Aziraphale flushed to the roots of his hair. Was Crowley _flirting_ with him? That couldn’t be. Why would Crowley flirt with _him_?

“How long have you been single?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale had thought he couldn’t be any more surprised, but he was wrong.

“I, er, I haven’t had a steady romantic partner in about nine years,” he stammered.

“That’s a long time,” the red haired man remarked. One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Don’t you get lonely?“

Aziraphale shuffled his napkin on the table, desperate for any distraction. “Work keeps me busy.”

“Yeah, but you don’t work all the time. What about in your private life?”

“I have friends,” Aziraphale protested, still not looking at Crowley.

“Well, that’s good. We all need friends. But what about when you’re home? Do you have a flatmate to keep you company?”

“No, I don’t have a flatmate. I have books.”

One auburn eyebrow raised behind the glasses. “Books? What type of books?”

Aziraphale tutted. “You really are being _terribly_ nosy.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I forget myself sometimes.”

“It’s quite alright, dear.”

Crowley gave him another grin and his heart fluttered again. “You could ask _me_ questions, if you wanted.”

“You?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Turnabout is fair play, after all. Go ahead. Ask me anything, I’ll answer honestly.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. He had scads of questions for Crowley - it was alarming to him how much he wanted to get to know the red haired man better - but what should he ask? He didn’t want to be rude. 

He settled on, “How long have you been a reporter?” 

“Since I graduated uni in 1999.”

“Do you like it?”

Crowley shrugged. “Most days.”

“Was it always what you wanted to do?”

The smirk on Crowley’s face grew. “Are you only going to ask me softball questions about my job?”

“Well you’ll have to forgive me,” Aziraphale said a little tartly. “I’m not accustomed to interviewing people.”

“That’s alright, angel. You’re doing fine. Forget I said anything. Ask anything you like.”

Aziraphale barely heard anything past the word ‘angel.’ A term of endearment? Oh, he thought he may flutter away. What was it about this man that had him so entranced?”

“I… um… I’m not sure what to ask,” he admitted. 

“Well, how about this: ask me questions you would ask of someone you were thinking of dating.”

That _definitely_ seemed like flirting, and Aziraphale’s entire body was responding. His heart raced and his brain whirled and he tried to calm himself. Surely he must be misunderstanding?

Crowley reached across the table and nudged Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale felt the touch all over. What was wrong with him?

“Come on. Surely there’s something you’d like to ask?”

“I - I shouldn’t like to pry.”

“I’m inviting you to pry to your heart’s content. I’m an open book.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He was desperately attracted to this man, and it _seemed_ as if Crowley were attracted to him, too. He’d spent so long eschewing romantic entanglements - but what if he let himself go? Just a little, just enough to get to know Crowley a little bit. Maybe he really should do as Crowley had suggested and ask questions he’d ask of a potential romantic partner. It couldn’t hurt, right? Maybe, if this went well, they really _could_ date. Maybe... But he wouldn’t know unless he opened himself up to the possibility.

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “I’ll ask you some questions. Why do you wear sunglasses everywhere?”

Crowley grinned, as if being asked a question was a victory. “I wondered if you’d start with that.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ve been wondering.”

“I have photophobia, or sensitivity to light. Especially sunlight and LED lights. The shades help keep me from getting headaches.”

“So you don’t wear them all the time?”

“I don’t wear them at home where the lights are a bit dimmer and the light bulbs are the old fashioned kind.”

“Does it impede your work?”

“No, not really. I just have to wear sunglasses most everywhere and blue blockers when I’m working on the computer.”

“Oh.” He thought for a second, trying to come up with another question. Finally, he landed on, “What are you interested in besides journalism?”

“Oh, lots of things. I like to play at being a mechanic in my spare time. In fact, I restored my car myself. She’s vintage.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise. He wouldn’t have expected that. “You did?”

“I did. It was basically scrap when I bought it, but a little TLC over a few years and I got her back up and running. Had to hire real mechanics for some of it, but I did most of the work myself.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“A 1932 Bentley.”

“A Bentley!”

“Yes. You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I am, a bit. When you told me you’d restored a classic car, I was thinking of a Jaguar or a Carmen Ghia, something James Bond would drive.”

Crowley’s grin was lopsided. “You pictured me like James Bond? I’m flattered, angel, I really am.”

Aziraphale’s heart flipped in his chest at the second use of the word ‘angel.’ That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“That must have cost a fortune. I, um, wonder what your wife had to say to such an extensive restoration project.”

Crowley threw back his head and laughed, exposing his gorgeous neck again.

“Wife. That’s funny,” he said when he returned his smiling gaze to Aziraphale. “No, I don’t have a wife. Or a husband, for that matter. I’ve been single for a little over a year, since Dagon and I split. The only man in my life now is my pet python.”

Aziraphale couldn’t be absolutely sure, since Dagon was such an unusual name and could be applied to either gender, but it certainly _seemed_ as if that answer confirmed what Anathema had said. Crowley was at least bisexual. Could Anathema have been right about him being interested in Aziraphale, too? It sure seemed so. He tried to tamp down his excitement.

“You have a pet snake?”

“Yeah, Freddie. He’s a useless lump. A lazy red and black freeloader, really, but I’ll keep him.”

“Pythons seem like unusual pets.”

“Maybe to some, but I enjoy him. Never have to worry about rats in my flat, eating the plants.”

“Oh, you have plants?”

“I do. I took some botany classes at uni, which was unusual for someone studying journalism, but I loved it. I’ve got something like thirty potted plants in my flat, ranging from spider plants to ficuses.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Thirty?”

“Yes, about that many.”

“Your flat sounds like as much of a greenhouse as mine is a library.”

Crowley gave him that devastating smile again. “Maybe you should come over and see my plants sometime. I’d love to show them off. And you can meet Freddie, if you’d like.”

“He’s not… he’s not a _mean_ snake, is he?”

“Nah, he’s friendly. Scratch his snout a little and he’ll be your best friend for life.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Having a best friend that’s a snake could really be something.”

Crowley grinned back. “You’d be the talk of the wedding industry. A wedding planner with a huge black snake draped around your shoulders. You’d make even more of an impression than you already do, angel.”

Aziraphale’s laugh faded, and he asked, “Why do you keep calling me angel?”

Crowley glanced away hurriedly, reaching down to spin his cup of cocoa. “Well, several reasons. First, you’re known as the ‘angel of love’ around town, so it fits in that respect. Second, I remember enough of the one religious studies class I took in uni to know that Aziraphale is the name of an angel - a principality, if I recall correctly. So it fits that way, too. But mostly,” he paused and Aziraphale noted a little staining of pink high on his cheekbones, “you just… look like an angel. Your hair is like a beautiful halo, and when you smile, you almost glow. So I thought I’d call you angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. He was more than a little taken aback to hear that Crowley thought he was beautiful. And there was _no_ denying that _that_ was flirting. 

They were quiet for a minute, both of them silent until the question that had been plaguing Aziraphale the most over the last little while came out of his mouth, entirely without his permission.

“Why were you asking questions about my relationship status?”

Crowley wouldn’t look directly at him. “I - well - I was asking for my own benefit. I thought,” he paused for a second, then went on, “I was thinking - or rather, I was _hoping_ , that after this wedding is behind us, I may be able to ask you out to dinner sometime. If you want.”

Aziraphale was sure that if he’d been standing, he could have been knocked over with a feather. It felt like his blood was pumping double time through his veins and an absolute riot of butterflies had taken up in his chest. His jaw was slack and his eyes wide, but he felt a smile grow, covering his face. Crowley wanted to date him! Him! And heaven help him, Aziraphale wanted to date Crowley, too. 

But he had no idea what to say. Crowley wasn’t _actually_ asking him on a date, he was stating his desire to do so after the Device wedding. The wedding was in eleven days. Would he still feel the same in eleven days?

“I, um, I think I’d like that. If you were to ask me out, that is.”

Crowley's face spread into a smile so bright, it would have outshone the sun. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale flushed, but nodded. “Yes. After the wedding, of course.”

“Yeah, of course. Absolutely. After the wedding. Yes.”

“Good. Then that’s… um… that’s settled.”

Crowley was still grinning. “I can’t wait, angel. Eleven days.”

Aziraphale gave a pleased smile. “I’m rather looking forward to it, too.”


	6. Chapter 6

_18 September, 2020_

Crowley was pacing around his flat, bouncing a rubber ball just for something to do with his hands, and talking to Freddie. The python was coiled on the leather couch paying him little attention. 

“I still can’t believe he said yes. A man as gorgeous and perfect as that? He should have turned me down flat. But I’m not arguing. Oh, no. Fuck no. I’m absolutely _thrilled_ he said yes. I just don’t understand it.” He paused for a second, then went on. “Well, he didn’t _technically_ say yes yet, but he told me he _would_ say yes. That’s the same thing, right? Close enough?”

He bounced his ball a couple of times and walked the familiar circuit around his couch. 

“Now I just have to figure out where to take him. It’s got to be somewhere perfect. I really need to impress him. But where? Any ideas?”

Crowley looked over at Freddie, but the snake had drifted off to sleep. 

“Useless reptile,” he muttered, then bounced his ball a couple more times. “What about you lot?” he asked his plants. “If you were an incredibly gorgeous wedding planner, where would _you_ like to go for a first date?”

The plants, of course, didn’t answer, and Crowley sighed. The wedding was in eight days, which meant he could ask Aziraphale out in nine days. He had time, right? There was no need to panic. 

And yet, he was panicked.

Impulsively, he picked up his mobile from the coffee table and stared at it for a moment. Anathema would know what to do. But should he bother her? Would that be _too_ unprofessional? God knew he’d already been crossing that line on the story he’d been writing. What would one more infraction be? Besides, she might be able to ease his mind a bit. 

He unlocked his phone and sent her a message. 

Crowley: _hey, have you got a min?_  
Anathema: _sure, what’s up?_  
Crowley: _can I call?_  
Anathema: _sure :)_

Crowley didn’t hesitate, he pressed the little phone icon and made the call. Anathema picked up on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Anathema, it’s Crowley.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s what the caller ID told me. How can I help you, Crowley?”

“I - um…” he faltered. Now that the moment was upon him, he was inexplicably nervous. But why? Anathema had been playing matchmaker for weeks. She’d be delighted. He nodded to himself and plowed on.

“I asked Aziraphale out.”

There was a sharp gasp in the line, then a squeal. “You did?!”

“Yes. Well, kind of. I sorta… asked him if I _could_ ask him out after the wedding. He said yes.”

Anathema squealed again, directly into the phone, and Crowley pulled it away from his ear with a smile.

“I’m so excited! Oh, I knew you’d make an amazing couple!”

“Slow down,” Crowley laughed. “We haven’t even been on a date yet.”

“Maybe not, but the stars are _very_ clear on this. You _will be_ an amazing couple.”

Christ, Crowley hoped so. 

“I was calling, well, I was wondering if I could get your input.”

“Absolutely. About Aziraphale?”

“Yes. And as much as I appreciate what you’re saying the stars are saying, I’d rather have _your_ input.”

“I can do that. What kind of input would you like?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m a bit concerned about a first date. You know him better than I do at this point. What can I do, or where can I take him to _really_ wow him?”

“Well, Aziraphale strikes me as the type that appreciates a bit of flash.”

“Flash?” Crowley repeated. He could do that. He’d been accused of being a flash bastard more than once. Flash was no problem.

“I’d take him to a nice restaurant. Maybe somewhere with a Michelin Star, if you can afford it. Somewhere like the Ritz.”

Crowley was making notes on his notepad. “Michelin Star. The Ritz. Got it. Anywhere else?”

“Aziraphale studied literature at uni and loves Shakespeare. Maybe you could take him to a production of something?”

“Shakespeare. Got it. What else?”

“Hmm. That’s all I have that’s concrete, but I can give you some advice based on hunches, if you’d like.”

With anyone else, Crowley would have refused such an offer, but Anathema’s hunches had proven uncannily accurate so far, so he said, “Lay it on me.”

“Aziraphale doesn’t believe in love.”

Crowley froze in his writing. “ _That’s_ the hunch you have?” he asked incredulously.

“No, that’s what he told me. He claims to believe that love is something that happens to other people, but not to him.”

“Well, _that’s_ exactly what the bloke hoping to date him wants to hear. Got any more rain for my parade?”

“Don’t let that discourage you,” Anathema advised. 

“How could it _not_?”

“Because that’s where my hunch comes in. I don’t think he _actually_ believes that. I think it’s a defense mechanism he’s developed because he’s spent the last twenty years surrounded by love but hasn’t ever experienced being in love himself.”

“He’s _never_ been in love?”

“That’s what he claims. But I doubt that was any fault of his. I think he just hasn’t found the right man - until now.”

Crowley felt a thrill at ‘until now,’ but tamped it down.

“So what do I do?”

“I think he needs to be wooed a bit. Wined and dined. Romanced a little. Swept off his feet.”

“And you think _I’m_ the one to do that?”

“I do. He’s clearly very interested in you. Not only did he _tell me_ he was interested in you, he said yes to a date with you when he told me he’d practically sworn off dating. So something’s there. You just have to cultivate it.”

“How?” Crowley asked, honestly bewildered.

“Walks in the park. Little gifts. Maybe flowers. Things like that. Just be romantic.”

Crowley hadn’t often been accused of being romantic in his life. In fact, he’d _never_ been described as romantic. It just wasn’t something that interested him, and he assumed he wasn’t good at it. But if that was something that interested Aziraphale, well, he would _get_ good in a hurry. The realization that he _wanted_ to romance his angel took him a little by surprise. It would be out of character for him, but he was willing to do it. For Aziraphale, he had a feeling he’d be willing to do anything.

He tried not to think about the fact that he’d just referred to Aziraphale as ‘his angel’ within his own mind. 

“Thank you, Anathema,” he said sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll just be happy to see you two together and happy.”

Crowley smiled at the idea. “Well, that’s what I’m hoping for, too.”

“Anything I can do to help, I’m willing to. You can call me anytime.”

“Thank you. I may have to take you up on that.”

“I hope you do. Now, can I ask a favor in return?”

“Sure.”

“Give me your _time_ of birth.”

Crowley’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“So I can run a natal chart on you and Aziraphale.”

He rolled his eyes. More astrology. But she’d been such a help to him, and this was such a small thing…

“I was born sometime in the wee hours. I don’t remember the exact time. Something like three thirty.”

“5 March, right?”

“Right.”

“Perfect,” she said, sounding satisfied. 

The mobile beeped in his ear and he pulled the phone away to look at the screen. Beezle was calling. 

“Hey, Anathema, I need to go. My editor is calling.”

“Yeah, you go answer that. Call me if you have any more questions.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Bye!”

“Bye, Anathema.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, pushed the button to change calls, then put it back. 

“Beezle! How the hell are you?”

“What’s got you so chipper?” they demanded, sounding curious. 

“Nothing in particular,” he lied. “How can I help you?”

“I got your notes on the Device wedding.”

“Yes, I know. I got the read receipt about three hours ago. What do you think?”

“I think Anathema Device sounds like a nutter.”

Crowley laughed delightedly. “She is a bit of an odd duck,” he said, his voice fond. “What else are you thinking?”

“I like what you have so far. You’re putting a bit of a spin on the story, it seems, that most other society reporters don’t.”

“Well, I’m not a society reporter.”

“No, and it shows. Tell me about this… is it Ezra? Fell?”

Crowley felt a thrill of delight. “Aziraphale Fell. The wedding planner.”

“Yes. Tell me about him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“He seems interesting, for a wedding planner.” There was a pause. “Are your notes accurate? His long term success rate is 90%?”

“Yes, that’s accurate.”

“Hmph. Seems like he’d make a good subject for a profile.”

Oh no, oh _no_. If he were asked to write a profile on Aziraphale, that would delay being able to date him for _weeks_ , and possibly derail everything. 

“I’ll be happy to hand off my notes to someone else on the society desk so they can do a profile,” he offered.

He could almost _see_ Bee’s raised eyebrows through the phone. “Why can’t you do it?”

 _Because I'm mad about him and want to romance the shit out of him._

“Because I’m trying to get back to the political desk, not write profiles about wedding planners.”

Beezle harrumphed, but didn’t argue. Thank _God_.

“How much longer am I going to be in hell, anyway?”

“I got the impression you were enjoying yourself with this story,” they retorted dryly.

“It… hasn’t been the nightmare I anticipated,” he admitted. A half truth. “But I’m very much looking forward to getting back to politics, where I belong.” There. That was entirely true. 

“Well, it looks like you might be back sooner rather than later.”

Crowley perked up. “Oh?”

“Yes. Morningstar’s wrath seems to have cooled some, and Device’s father has been talking you up, saying _just lovely_ things about you. My guess is that in a couple of weeks, I could get you moved back to politics.”

Crowley punched the air silently, then did an exuberant little dance. In a more professional tone, he said, “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“But you’ve _got_ to keep your nose clean. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Whatever it took, Crowley would do it. 

“Good. Well, I just wanted to touch base about your notes. Is there anything else I need to know about this story?”

 _Yeah, I’m falling for a source._

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Okay, in that case, keep up the good work. I’ll expect another update on Wednesday and you’ll file the story at midnight Saturday.”

“Yep, right after the wedding so it can run Sunday.”

“Good deal. Talk to you soon. Keep me in the loop in case anything changes.”

“Will do, boss. Thanks.”

Beezle hung up without responding and Crowley tossed the phone on the couch, disturbing Freddie. Yes! Yes, yes, yes! He was on his way back to politics! And better than that, Anathema thought he had a real shot of winning Aziraphale’s heart! 

“Life is good, Freddie,” he crowed, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes a couple of times. “Life is good.”

Freddie responded by flicking his tongue out, tasting the air, then lay his head back down on his coil. 

“Useless snake,” Crowley muttered, but there was no heat to it, and he scratched Freddie’s head as he passed by, on his way to the kitchen to get a drink.

~*~O~*~

_21 September, 2020_

Aziraphale was working on some paperwork - his least favorite part of the job - when Tracy breezed into his office unannounced. He didn’t even look up from his expense reports. She’d been breezing into and out of his office unannounced since very shortly after he’d hired her, and frequently did what she needed without even acknowledging him. 

His attention to the report on his desk was diverted when a clamshell container appeared in his vision. 

“What’s this?” he asked, straightening in his seat and looking at the box. 

“Turkey club from Rocco’s. It’s past one, and you haven’t eaten.”

Now that he was thinking about it, he _was_ rather hungry. Tracy knew him so well, and was such a dear. “Thank you, Tracy. Always the mother hen.”

“Well, someone has to keep you from falling apart.”

“And I’m very glad you do. I hope you got one for yourself?”

Tracy raised her hand, indicating the clamshell container she held. “Course I did.” He smiled as she took her usual seat across from him and put her box on his desk to open it. He followed suit and opened his own box, after sliding the expense report out from under it to avoid making a mess.

The sandwich looked mouth-watering, and he picked up half to take a bite. It was delicious - Rocco’s really did have the best sandwiches - and he closed his eyes happily for a moment, savoring. 

“Good?” Tracy asked. 

“The best,” he answered from around a bite of food - an infraction of manners he’d never even consider in front of anyone else. 

“Good.”

“Did you contact Ms. Osgood about her floral arrangements?”

“I did. And I also contacted Penny Dateman and Samantha Moore to handle their inquiries, too.”

“You’re a lifesaver, dear,” Aziraphale told her with feeling. 

“Would you like to tell me what happened at your coffee date yesterday?” 

Aziraphale swallowed carefully, weighing his words. Tracy knew him better than anyone in his life, and there was no pulling the wool over her eyes, so to speak. Even so, he’d admitted his attraction to Crowley to no one but Anathema. But Tracy had been giving him knowing looks when Crowley’s name came up, anyway. Aziraphale strongly suspected that he was about to admit his attraction out loud to a second person. 

“It went fine,” he said slowly. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

It had been so much better than fine, really. Learning that Crowley was attracted to him as well had left him buzzing with excitement for hours after, and he was still excited about that fact today. He felt himself flush, which he was sure would give him away, but answered, “It was… very nice. Not what I’d expected.”

“Oh? How was it different?”

Aziraphale nearly sighed. “Well, I’d expected him to have a list of questions, but it wasn’t like that. It was more like just chatting with a friend.”

“A friend,” she repeated, deadpan. 

When it came to Tracy, honesty was nearly always the best policy. She had him now, and he might as well tell the truth. He felt his cheeks heat further. “Well, maybe a bit more like a first date.”

Tracy smiled, looking satisfied. “That’s excellent to hear. I know how attracted you’ve been to him.”

Despite himself, Aziraphale sputtered. “I’m not… I haven’t…”

She rolled her eyes and held up a hand. “Spare me, dear. You’ve had the worst case of mentionitis I’ve ever seen.”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, confused. “Mentionitis?”

“Yes. It’s when you fancy someone and they’re on your mind all the time and you end up mentioning them over and over. Mentionitis.”

“I have not!” he protested, even as he racked his brain to see if she were right.

“You have. And it’s been so lovely to watch you falling for someone, after all these years.”

The bottom of Aziraphale’s stomach dropped out. “I’m not _falling_ ,” he informed her, wondering if he were lying. 

She gave him a Look. “Maybe the wording is a bit wrong, but you _are_ attracted to him, and I’ve not seen you interested in someone in a long time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen you so interested in someone.”

That was precisely because Aziraphale _hadn’t_ been this attracted to someone in many, many years. Ever, really. He considered arguing, but decided against it. It wasn’t worth it, and besides, she was right. “Alright, yes,” he admitted. “I am attracted to him.”

He’d rarely seen his assistant look so pleased. “That’s wonderful!”

“Why is it so wonderful? It feels dreadful.”

“That’s just your anxiety. Surely it doesn’t feel _entirely_ dreadful?”

No, it certainly didn’t, and to be honest, the ‘dreadful’ part was just a twinge every now and then. On the whole, he felt… blissful. 

“You deserve to be happy,” Tracy informed him with a smile. 

“I’m happy with my life the way it is, thank you.”

“Yes, but think of being in love as an enhancement.”

His heart fluttered nervously in his chest. “Who said anything about love?”

Tracy waved a dismissive hand. “Romance, then. You’re being pedantic.”

“And you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

She ignored that. “Honestly, I’m just proud of you for being able to admit there’s an attraction. I know that’s a big step for you.”

It _was_ a big step, but Aziraphale didn’t feel like being gracious at the moment. So he kept silent. 

“Have you asked him out?”

“No!” he protested, his mind flashing back to the fact that Crowley had all but asked him out - and he’d accepted.

“Why not, dear?”

“How do you even know he’s attracted to me? You’ve never met him.”

“Anathema told me.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed. “Anathema. Of course.”

“Is he not?” Tracy pressed. 

“He does seem to be,” Aziraphale admitted. “He… almost asked me out for a date yesterday.”

One eyebrow shot up. “Almost?”

“Yes. He asked if he _could_ ask me out to dinner after the wedding was done. I assume it’s something to do with his job. Not dating a source or something like that. But he signaled his intent to ask me to dinner.”

“And what did you say?’

Aziraphale flushed again. “I said that I’d be very willing to accept,” he confessed with a small smile. 

Tracy clapped her hands together under her chin excitedly. 

“It’s just a date,” he cautioned her, although he was still smiling. 

“It’s more than that. It’s you admitting that maybe you’ve been wrong all these years, with your insistence that love is only meant for other people.”

“There you go, getting ahead of yourself again,” Aziraphale complained.

“I’m not. That’s exactly what it is.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s not.” 

“Go on a date with him. Be open to the _possibility_ that you’ve been wrong. Love very well may be standing in front of you. All you have to do is accept it.”

While Aziraphale still rather thought that Tracy was being more than a bit premature, her words gave him pause. Frankly, it was something he’d been thinking about a lot over the last couple of weeks, and nearly constantly since the previous afternoon. What if he _had_ been wrong all this time? What if this time were different? Crowley was certainly unlike any man he’d ever known, and Aziraphale’s attraction to him was also different. What if that _meant_ something?

Aziraphale didn’t voice any of his turbulent thoughts, he just gave her a small smile. “I’m going to go on a date with him, if he asks, and we’ll see how that goes. We may go to dinner and find there’s no chemistry. Or he may have atrocious table manners or something.”

“Or, it could be the greatest night of your life - the beginning of a wonderful love story.”

“Oh, how you run on.”

“I’m not running on. It really could be the beginning of something wonderful.”

“It could be,” he allowed. “I’m willing to go and find out. God help me, I’m willing to try this.”

“And you’ll go into it with an open mind?”

“I will. I promise. But I’m also going into it with my guard up. I’ve seen nothing thus far that changes my opinion that love isn’t in the cards for me.”

“As long as you’re giving this young man a fair chance I think you may find your mind changing about that.”

Lord help him, Aziraphale almost hoped she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that the chapter count has changed. It may change again. Depends on my amount of self control... which means it’s near-certain to go up again.


	7. Chapter 7

_26 September, 2020_

Crowley accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped it, looking around the lavishly decorated garden that was hosting Anathema and Newt’s reception. He hadn’t been to a wedding in several years and had wondered whether _this_ wedding would even be recognizable compared to the sort he was used to. There hadn’t been as many differences as he’d anticipated. Everyone had been asked to wear blue, if at all possible, to preserve the energy or some such. The wedding had been held at precisely 4:39 PM, since, according to Anathema, that was the time the moon entered Virgo. She’d walked down the aisle to a gorgeous choir singing (or rather, chanting) a song he didn’t recognize and there had been some sort of ceremony where incense had been burned which had made him (and several others) sneeze. Beyond that, though, the ceremony had been fairly mainstream. She’d worn a white dress that managed to be elegant and witchy at the same time and she carried a bouquet of sweet basil, white carnations, and violets to bring luck. All the elements of a typical wedding had been there: the vows, the rings, the kiss at the end. Crowley had taken copious notes but didn’t think it would be too hard to finish writing his article. It was nearly done, anyway. All he had to do was add a couple hundred words about the ceremony and reception then file the story by midnight and his obligation would be complete. The article would come out tomorrow and he’d be free to ask Aziraphale out on Monday. He could hardly wait. 

Speaking of Aziraphale…

Crowley scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar blond head. He’d only caught glimpses of Aziraphale thus far, but Crowley supposed that made sense. He was bound to be incredibly busy. Crowley had expected that any time he saw the angel today, he’d be running like a chicken with his head cut off, but the times Crowley had seen him he’d looked cool. Calm. In command. _Sexy._

For now, though, Crowley milled around the reception, recorder in hand, obtaining quotes he likely wouldn’t use from family members, attendants, and guests. It was a way to kill some time until he (hopefully) could corner Aziraphale. Crowley had decided the night before, during one of his anxiety walks around his flat while talking to his plants and Freddie, to ask Aziraphale to dance if he could. The fact that the band seemed to be a folk group that were playing bizarre music Crowley had never even heard of was only a mild deterrent. He could deal with weird music. He could deal with anything as long as it meant he got to hold Aziraphale.

 _God_ , he couldn’t wait for Monday. He scoffed to himself at the idea. First time he’d ever had _that_ thought. 

Crowley caught sight of him again, over by the bar. He was wearing a traditional tuxedo, which Crowley found devastatingly sexy, and was talking into the microphone of the headset he was wearing, his brows furrowed. Probably putting out some minor fire. Whatever it was, it seemed to be going on behind the scenes. As far as Crowley could tell, everything was going off without a hitch. 

“Can I read your cards, honey?” a voice asked from his left. Crowley turned from watching Aziraphale to see a woman smiling at him. She looked like the quintessential psychic, dressed in flowing blue garments trimmed with gold, her dark hair wound into a bun. She was a fair few years older than Crowley, mid 60’s, maybe, and her face was kind. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he declined politely, with a smile. 

She gave him a look. “Are you sure? Your aura indicates that you’re quite smitten with someone. Couldn’t hurt to do a little reading and find out what the cards say about your future, could it?”

Crowley debated for a second. Tarot was just like all of the other rubbish Anathema believed - complete horseshit - but really, there was no reason _not_ to let this woman read his cards. He glanced over towards the bar and noticed that Aziraphale had gone, probably to sort out whatever problem he’d been dealing with, so Crowley couldn’t talk to him right now, anyway. And really, there was no harm in indulging this woman. It would be a waste of time, sure, but he had time to kill, so why not?

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed.

The woman smiled brightly. “Excellent. Come over to my table and we’ll get started.” 

Crowley obediently followed her over to one of the little tables that had been set up for the complimentary tarot readings Anathema was providing her guests. He took a seat where she indicated, and she sat down across from him with a smile. 

“Now, before we get started, my name is Madame Dorothy.”

“Like my favorite Golden Girl,” Crowley remarked. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Eh, nevermind. I’m Crowley.”

“Crowley,” she echoed with a smile, shaking his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Shall we get started?”

“Yes, let's,” Crowley agreed, regretting this decision already. 

“Is a five card spread alright with you?” she asked politely. 

Crowley shrugged. “Whatever blows up your skirt.”

Madame Dorothy chuckled, then handed him a deck of large cards. “Shuffle, please.”

He did, shuffling the cards for just a second until she held out her hand to take them back. Crowley handed them over and she cut the deck. 

“The first card is your far past. It gives me a general idea of what type of person you are.”

“Okay.”

Madame Dorothy pulled one card off the top of the deck and laid it in front of him. “Ace of swords. This tells me that you’ve spent a good deal of your life seeking truth. Maybe justice.”

Crowley fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m a reporter, that’s literally my job.”

The fortune teller looked a bit smug. Then she revealed a second card, laying it beside the first. 

“This is your more recent past, and it’s the Tower. It signifies sudden change, often resulting in a downfall. Painful changes in your life. Is that also accurate?”

Crowley blinked a little. It _was_ accurate, eerily so, but he did his best to brush it off. “I’ve had some... recent turmoil in my professional life,” he admitted. 

“I see.” She looked even more smug now. “The next card indicates your present circumstances. Let’s see what it says.” She flipped a card. “Ah, how lovely. The two of cups.”

“What’s that mean?” Crowley asked, anxious despite himself. 

“The two of cups indicates a new attraction. Much like your aura. Is there a new person in your life?”

Instinctively, Crowley looked up and his eyes landed on Aziraphale at once. The blond man was involved in conversation with one of the servers, but just seeing him made Crowley feel all warm.

“Yeah,” he admitted without looking back to Madame Dorothy. “There’s somebody new.”

When he turned back around, Madame Dorothy had followed his gaze and was smiling in Aziraphale’s general direction. It made Crowley flush a little, in spite of himself. 

“Let’s just see what your near future card shows, shall we?” She flipped the card. “Ah, the Wheel of Fortune. A turning point is on the horizon, but this card indicates that your luck will come back to you.”

“Is that related to my past card or my present? The one about attraction?”

“Both, if this card is to be believed - and the cards are rarely wrong. Several things in your life are about to change - for the better.”

Fuck, Crowley hoped so. But there was still one more card to go, and he was anxious about it. It could all go to shit - Wait, what the hell was he thinking? He didn’t believe in this rot!

“Would you like to see your future card? The one that foretells your destiny?”

“Ah, yes. Please.”

She flipped the card, and Crowley felt a little jolt when he saw it. 

“The lovers,” Madame Dorothy said, sounding pleased. “This is a _very_ happy card. It indicates love and romance; a happy, fulfilling relationship.”

Crowley sat back in his chair and smiled. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes. I’d be very pleased to get this reading, if I were you.”

Crowley _was_ pleased to have gotten this reading. Could it be true? He didn’t know, but he _wanted_ it to be.

“Thank you very much, Madame Dorothy,” he said, getting to his feet and shaking her hand. “This has been most enlightening.”

“It is my pleasure. All the best of luck to you, dear.”

Crowley gave her one more smile in parting, then turned back to the reception, his mind full. 

He didn’t have long to ponder what she’d said before he spotted Aziraphale across the room again. He was smiling now, in a conversation with Anathema’s mother, and Crowley warmed at the sight of him smiling. He had no idea what was making Aziraphale smile, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it. He loved seeing the angel happy. Someday - hopefully someday soon - he hoped to be the _reason_ Aziraphale smiled. 

Soon… Just a day or two more… 

“Mr. Crowley, is it?”

He turned to find another older woman dressed in eclectic clothes smiling up at him. She had copper-red hair, bright red lips, and a kind smile. 

“Oh, no thank you. I just had a tarot reading.”

The woman laughed, her eyes twinkling in delight. “Oh, no, I’m not here in that capacity. Not today. I’m Tracy, Tracy Shadwell, Aziraphale’s assistant.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, realization dawning. Upon closer inspection, the woman _was_ wearing a headset like Aziraphale’s. He should have known. “Sorry about that,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers. 

“Not a problem, not a problem at all. You _are_ Mr. Crowley, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Crowley is my father,” Crowley replied with a smile. “I’m just Crowley.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, of course.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You have?”

“Oh, yes. Aziraphale told me all about you.”

The other eyebrow joined the first. “He _did_?”

“Oh, yes. Your name has come up frequently.”

Crowley was chuffed. “All good, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. Very good things. He’s quite taken with you.”

His smile grew. “Yeah?”

“Indeed. Which is so very nice to watch. He’s been on his own for such a long time.”

“He told me he hadn’t dated anyone in a long while.”

“It’s been nearly a decade since he had a relationship. But even then, he didn’t seem as excited about the bloke as he is about _you_.”

Crowley bounced a little on the balls of his feet - he couldn’t help it. Joy was coursing through him. 

“Well, I’m very interested in him as well,” he admitted. 

Tracy smiled at him. “Good. I’d very much like to see his silly belief that love is something that happens to other people proven false.”

Despite the fact they’d not even had a date yet, Crowley rather thought he’d very much like to be the man that proved that belief false. 

But he could think about that later. For now, he had an opportunity to pick the brain of the person closest to Aziraphale, and he didn’t want to waste it. Now would be the perfect time to learn a bit more about Aziraphale, to do a bit of research. 

He pulled his recorder out of his pocket and showed it to Tracy. “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions, on the record?”

She flushed and patted her hair. “Oh, I don’t know that I’d be the best person to interview...”

“Won’t take a minute,” Crowley told her with a disarming grin.

“Oh, alright,” she agreed, and Crowley pressed the button to record. He gave the standard spiel about the date and had Tracy spell her name. Then he went ahead. 

“How long have you been working for Aziraphale?”

“About ten years, now. I started out part time, because I still had my business as a psychic and medium that I was doing full time, but eventually, the two flip flopped. Now I work for Aziraphale full time and do my psychic work on the side.”

“How do you like working for him?”

She smiled. “He’s the best boss ever. Makes working a pleasure. I love him like a son - or like a slightly younger brother,” she confided with a wink. 

Crowley laughed appropriately. “What makes him so good to work for?”

“Oh, so many things really. He’s very altruistic.”

“He is?”

“Yes, very. He does _pro-bono_ weddings for couples he feels are deserving, but who ordinarily wouldn’t be able to afford a nice wedding. He says that everyone should have the wedding day of their dreams, no matter what their financial status is.”

Crowley was surprised. “He does weddings for free?”

Tracy nodded. “Yes, when he runs across a couple he feels strongly about. I’d say he does one of his pro-bono weddings every couple of months. He provides his services for free, of course, and gets deep discounts from other vendors. I’ve seen him pull off simply _gorgeous_ weddings for less than a thousand pounds.”

“That’s remarkable.”

“Quite. Has he told you about the rider he has in his contracts?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s specified in nearly all of his contracts with well-to-do couples that any uneaten food be donated to a homeless shelter. And the flowers are donated, too.”

Crowley felt his eyes widen. “Really?”

“Absolutely. He insists upon it. Often, if the couple won’t agree, he’ll refuse to work for them. But sometimes, if the account is too lucrative to pass up, he’ll just donate it anyway, without their permission. No one has ever been the wiser.”

“Wow,” Crowley said, at a loss for anything else. He was glad his recorder was getting all this. “What about his nickname? The angel of love. How does he feel about that?”

“He doesn’t mind, usually. Although he sometimes gripes that it’s a ridiculous title for someone who doesn’t believe he’s lovable.“

“But he is lovable,” Crowley persisted, forgetting the recorder in his hand for a moment.

“He’s nothing _but_ lovable,” Tracy agreed. “And he’s always been like this. Once, when I was cleaning his office, I found an old journal where he’d planned his _own_ future wedding. He’d made the plans when he was a younger man, full of hope, then he never found the right man for him.”

“Has he had a lot of misfortune in love?”

“Not so much misfortune as he just never been especially lucky. He’s had relationships, of course, but none of the men he’s dated have been what he needed. He claims to have never been in love, but I think that may be a tale he tells the world to keep him from having to face painful memories. I _can_ tell you that he has not been terribly interested in anyone in a long, long time.” She looked the reporter up and down. _Until now_ , she didn’t say, although the words hung in the air between them. Crowley suddenly remembered the recorder in his hand and was grateful for the distraction.

“Thank you,” he said, clicking the recorder off. “I really appreciate you taking the time.”

“The pleasure is all mine, dear. I do hope I’ll be seeing you around.”

Crowley flushed a little. “I hope you’ll be seeing me, too.”

Tracy patted his arm with a warm smile, then dissolved into the crowd. Crowley watched her go, his mind even more full than it had been.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale stood on the side of the room looking out over the reception, a small smile on his face. Another wedding, in the books. He loved his job nearly all the time, but _this_ was always his favorite moment, when he could take a breath and bask in the satisfaction of a job well done.

This wedding had gone smoother than most, despite the mild concerns he’d had that it might not. There had been only a couple of small, last minute issues he had to address before the ceremony started, and then another couple of small issues at the reception. But they had been minor, and he felt sure that none of the guests had any inkling. Everyone seemed to have had a good time - were _still_ having a good time - and Aziraphale was pleased.

Without conscious permission, his eyes scanned the crowd for Crowley. He had hoped for a chance to speak to him, but he’d been too busy with his duties to seek Crowley out. Besides, he reminded himself, Crowley was there to do a job. He likely didn’t have time to chat, either.

But they’d be able to chat soon, he hoped. He hoped they’d be able to do plenty of chatting - and a lot more. He wanted to kiss, to touch, to hold hands, to hug. He wanted dinners out and quiet evenings in. Heaven help him, he wanted a _relationship_ , and as shocking as that thought was, it was also thrilling. He just hoped Crowley wanted the same.

Aziraphale was disappointed when he didn’t see Crowley’s bright red hair or sunglasses in the crowd, but he tried not to be. Crowley had a deadline to meet, after all, and a story to file. It made sense that he would have to leave early to do his job. Still, Aziraphale was a little crestfallen to have not gotten a chance to speak with him tonight. He did his best to brush that aside.

One of the guests spoke to him, congratulating him on a job well done, and Aziraphale thanked them kindly. Another guest followed soon after, and Aziraphale repeated his thanks. He was just about to turn and go check on the catering when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hello, angel.”

Aziraphale was already smiling when he turned around, and his smile only grew when he saw Crowley standing there, looking devilishly handsome in his tuxedo. His red hair was artfully tousled, one lock falling down over his forehead just so, and Aziraphale noticed with some amusement that his sunglasses were a bit nicer than usual. He was smiling, and Aziraphale’s belly flip flopped at the sight.

“Hello, dear.”

Crowley used the hand holding the champagne flute to indicate the reception. “This is a great party. You’ve done a hell of a job.”

“I’m so pleased you had a good time.”

“Are you glad it’s over?”

“Well, I have another two weddings next weekend, so I’ll be busy with those.”

Crowley grinned. “No rest for the wicked. Or the angelic, in this case.”

Aziraphale smiled back. “No, I suppose not. But I have tomorrow off, at least.”

“So what happens now?”

His heart beat a little faster. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, now that the party is nearly over, what’s left for you to do?”

“Oh. Not much, really. I have to supervise the packing in and whatnot, which can be tedious and run into the late hours, but most of my work is done.”

“Good. Maybe you can relax for a bit.”

“Maybe. What about you? Don’t you have a deadline?”

“Midnight,” Crowley said with a nod. 

“Do you have much more to do?”

“Nah. It’s mostly written. It’ll take me about an hour to finish it, then polish it up. Maybe an hour and a half.”

“You’re very fast,” Aziraphale remarked.

“Years of practice.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

They lapsed into quiet, both of them looking out onto the reception, in the general direction of the dance floor. Aziraphale had no idea what to say - he _wanted_ to say something to reassure himself of Crowley’s interest in him, but…

The music changed and a slow number came on. From the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley swallow, then smile, then turn to face Aziraphale, one hand extended.

“Could I interest you in a dance, angel?” he asked, bent into a little bow, his hand extended in offer.

Aziraphale’s brain froze. He didn’t have any idea what to say. He very much wanted to take that hand and go out to the dance floor, and hotly debated within his own mind for a minute. But in the end, professionalism won.

“I’m sorry,” he said as sincerely as he could. “I’d like nothing more, truly, but I’m on the clock, as it were.”

Crowley looked a little disappointed but smiled anyway, straightening and retracting his rejected hand. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I really _would_ like to dance with you...”

Crowley’s face perked up. “Another time, then?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I do hope so.”

“I’ll be sure to ask at a more appropriate time, next time.”

“And I’ll do my best to say yes.”

They fell silent again, then, in a very casual voice Crowley said, “Are you still interested in that date?”

“Oh, very much so.”

Crowley’s smile was like the sun coming out. “Can I ring you on Monday, then, to ask you properly?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Please do.”

They stood there, smiling at each other for a long minute, until Crowley seemed to shake himself. “I, um, I’d better let you get back to work.”

“Yes, and you have work to do yourself.”

“I do. But I’ll ring you Monday?”

“I’m very much looking forward to it.”

Crowley beamed. “Me, too. I’ll talk to you soon, angel.”

Aziraphale raised a hand to wave goodbye, then Crowley was gone like a wisp of smoke. Aziraphale bit his lip on a smile he couldn’t contain.

Monday. He’d call Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the love you've left this story so far. I can't tell you how much it means to me, especially in these bleak times. Every comment is a ray of sunshine to my soul, and I'm so very grateful. 
> 
> Two favors to ask:  
> 1) you guys stay safe and socially distant for me, okay?  
> 2) if you're enjoying this story, maybe tell a friend?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve picked up a new, wonderful, consistent beta! My thanks to Narumikaiko, who has helped make this story better. I’m keeping you as a beta!

_27 September, 2020_

Aziraphale hummed lightly to himself as he made his way into his lounge, cup of cocoa in one hand and the Sunday edition of the Hellfire Times folded and tucked under his opposite arm. He often worked on Sundays - in fact, it was rare for him to have a day off on the weekend - but today, blessedly, he had the day to himself. He had no real plans today, nothing to accomplish, and pondered lightly what he might like to do. He had slept late this morning, since he’d been working late the night before, and it was nearly noon. The day was still quite young, and the world was his oyster, so to speak. If it were a nice day outside (and it certainly seemed to be, if the view from his window was to be believed), perhaps he’d go out and enjoy the sunshine. The little cafe down the street had a nice lunch menu and a veranda to dine on. Perhaps he could go there and have a light lunch, then go to the park and feed the ducks. He could even take a book with him and sit in the sunshine and read, if he wanted. There was no reason he shouldn’t. He could do whatever he pleased - later. For now, though, he thought he’d most enjoy sitting in his favorite armchair with the paper and a cup of cocoa. So that’s what he’d do.

He sat gently, owing to the hot cocoa in his right hand, then set it down delicately on the table beside him. Once that was situated, he pulled the newspaper out from under his arm with a little smile and unfolded it, crossing his legs and settling back into his chair, getting comfortable. As was his custom, he extracted the society pages first, setting the other sections to the side to be read later. He smiled when he saw the headline: _Society Darling Anathema Device Weds Accountant in Lavish Ceremony_. There were a couple of lovely full-color photos of Anathema with Newt below the headline, but Aziraphale’s attention was caught by the byline nestled under there in smaller print: _Story by Anthony J. Crowley_.

Aziraphale felt a rush of excitement, seeing the name in print, and bit his lip on a smile. Crowley had looked so sinfully handsome the night before in his tuxedo. Aziraphale had had many, many naughty thoughts about Crowley after seeing him dressed that way, but he’d also wanted to accept the invitation to dance, to hold Crowley in his arms - and to _be_ held. He’d wanted everyone in attendance to see that Crowley had wanted to dance with _him_ , that out of the hundreds of people there at the wedding, Crowley found him desirable. He’d wanted to show off his good luck, but couldn’t while he was working. Still, the daydream of being able to accept Crowley’s invitation and dance the night away with him under the stars had filled his mind the rest of the night and had even filtered into his dreams - although those had been rather more risque. He flushed a little even now, in the privacy of his own home, when he remembered the images his mind had conjured of him and Crowley while he slept. Hopefully, he’d be able to make those dreams a reality soon. 

Crowley had said he’d be calling tomorrow.

His eyes unfocused as his mind wandered, thinking about Crowley again. He wondered what it would be like to have his senses truly filled by Crowley. What would he smell like? Aziraphale hadn’t yet been close enough to find out, but he felt sure that whatever Crowley’s scent, it would be devastatingly sexy. Something musky and masculine, maybe a little spicy. 

What would he feel like? Crowley had said he enjoyed working on cars… would his hands be roughened? Or would they be smooth and soft? What would the rest of his skin feel like? Aziraphale very much wanted to find out - and soon. 

He also very much wanted to find out what Crowley would taste like. He’d spent what felt like hours daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss Crowley. His lips were thin, but would they be soft? Aziraphale rather thought they would be. What would Crowley kiss like? Would he prefer little, sipping kisses that teased? Or would he like long, slow, deep kisses that inflamed the senses? Whatever his style, Aziraphale felt very sure he’d love it. He couldn’t wait to kiss Crowley, he absolutely couldn’t _wait_.

But perhaps the biggest mystery about Crowley that he was hoping to unravel soon was about his eyes. What color were they? Would his eyes soften when they looked at Aziraphale, the way Aziraphale’s eyes softened when his gaze fell on Crowley? Would his eyes dance with mischief or smolder with desire? Oh, he wanted to know. Maybe he’d be able to see them soon. He loved looking at Crowley, even with the glasses, but he felt sure he’d love looking at Crowley’s bare face even more. He wanted to unravel all the mysteries of Crowley, one by one, and hoped he’d get the chance. 

His mobile rang beside him, startling him out of his thoughts, and he jumped a little. He glanced over at it, picking it up and looking at the screen, squinting a bit when he didn’t recognize the number. He debated with himself about even picking it up at all. He didn’t want to think about work today. But this was his personal phone, the one he didn’t give out to clients. Even if it _was_ work related, he should probably answer it. He just hoped he wouldn’t find himself with something to do on his day off. 

With a sigh, he slid his finger across the screen to answer it and brought the mobile to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s heart flipped in his chest and he froze in place. He knew that voice. _Crowley_.

As casually as he could, he said, “Speaking.”

“This is Crowley,” the voice confirmed, and Aziraphale melted into a smile, relaxing a little into his chair. 

“Crowley, dear, how are you?” _I was just thinking about you._

“I’m good, I hope you are?”

“I’m quite well, thank you.”

“Good, good.”

There was a short silence, and Aziraphale’s mind raced. Crowley had called! He’d actually called! And a day early!

“Did you, um, did you see the article?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked down at the paper on his lap and smiled. “I did. In fact, I had just sat down to read it.”

“Oh. Am I interrupting?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m glad you called.”

Crowley’s voice sounded pleased, but a little hesitant. “You are?”

Aziraphale flushed. Perhaps he’d revealed too much. But he admitted, “Yes, I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Well, here I am,” Crowley said, and there was a definite smile in his voice now. Aziraphale smiled, too.

“Here you are, indeed.”

There was another pause, and Aziraphale didn’t know how to fill it. He tried to think of things to say, but nothing was coming to him easily. Thankfully, Crowley broke the silence. 

“I, um, I had planned to ring you tomorrow, but you mentioned last night at the reception that you were off today and I, um, I thought maybe I’d call and see if you’d like to see me. Today, that is.”

Aziraphale’s face spread into a huge smile, happiness practically radiating from him, and he just allowed himself a moment to bask in this situation, this glorious moment when the most handsome man he’d ever seen had called a day earlier than promised and was asking him for a date.

He must have basked for a little too long because before he could answer, Crowley went on, his speech pressured. 

“Of course, you don’t have to. I’m sure you value your time off, and probably have plans. I just thought if you _don’t_ have any, any plans that is, maybe we could --”

“I don’t have any plans,” Aziraphale interrupted, still smiling brightly. “At least, no concrete plans. I was thinking of having a late lunch in a little while, then maybe going for a stroll in St. James Park. Would you care to join me?”

His heart was pounding wildly while he waited for his answer, but he didn’t have to wait long. 

“I’d love to,” Crowley said, and the smile was back in his voice. “Tell me when and where to meet. Or would you like me to pick you up?”

“Oh, no, I live quite close to the cafe and the park. Are you familiar with Soho?”

“I know enough to find my way around, and there’s always Google.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Would you like to meet at Angelina’s, on South Market?”

“Absolutely. What time?”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s half noon now, how about we meet at two? Would that give you enough time?”

“I’ll be there,” Crowley promised. “So I’ll get to see you in an hour and a half?”

“Yes, you will,” Aziraphale replied, feeling giddy.

“Fucking perfect. Just perfect. I’ll see you then, angel.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye, Crowley.”

“Bye.”

Aziraphale disconnected the call with a smile and pressed the phone to his chest, leaning his head back against the chair and closing his eyes on a sigh. He had a date. With Crowley. In ninety minutes. Oh, good gracious, he was all aflutter. A date with Crowley? He could hardly wait.

~*~O~*~

Crowley parked his Bentley a little ways from the cafe, then immediately used the rear view mirror to check his appearance for the umpteenth time. His hair was still perfect and he didn’t have anything in his teeth, so he gave himself a quick, excited smile and opened the door, stepping out onto the pavement. 

He’d done a very fast bit of research about this neighborhood, looking for a florist near the cafe he was meeting Aziraphale at, and had been in luck. He whistled to himself as he sauntered vaguely in the direction that Google had told him the florist’s shop was in, and found it right where it was supposed to be. He ducked inside quickly and left less than three minutes later with a single white rose in hand. White was the perfect color to give an angel, he thought, plus a white rose meant ‘I’m worthy of you’ in the language of flowers. He wasn’t sure he actually _was_ worthy of Aziraphale, but he damn sure wanted to be. 

His nerves were jangling pleasantly when he arrived at the cafe a couple of minutes later, at about five to two. He briefly debated about going inside to see if Aziraphale was there or waiting on the pavement before he spotted a familiar white-blond head coming towards him from a little ways down the street. Crowley’s face stretched into a smile as he watched Aziraphale approach. Aziraphale was just so radiantly, effortlessly _beautiful_ , in his old fashioned clothes and with his cherubic face, his hair like a halo. 

Crowley was still staring when the other man caught sight of him, and he had a moment of panic that he was being a creep, but Aziraphale smiled brightly, and Crowley felt his heart stutter to life in his chest. So beautiful. So fucking beautiful…

“Hello,” Aziraphale said when he got close enough to be heard, his smile still in place. 

“Hello yourself,” Crowley replied, his own smile so big it nearly hurt his face. 

Aziraphale came to a stop a couple of feet away, and suddenly it was awkward. Crowley had no idea what to do. Should he touch him somehow? Shake his hand? No, that was stupid. Should he kiss his cheek? No, that was probably too forward. For his part, Aziraphale looked just as lost. Then Crowley remembered the flower in his hand and offered it to him. 

“Here. I, um, I got you something.”

“Oh, Crowley, you shouldn’t have,” the blonde gushed with a smile, taking the rose. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, and Crowley felt the contact zing all the way up his arm and into his brain, making his mind short circuit for a moment. He had just enough brain function left to realize that Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide at the touch, too. 

Crowley swallowed hard, a little disconcerted by such a strong, visceral response, but regained his footing fairly quickly and smiled. It wasn’t hard to smile when he was looking at that face. 

“Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?” he asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly and gesturing to the cafe.

Aziraphale twirled the bud of the rose along his smiling lips. “Temptation accomplished.”

Crowley’s smile grew, and he went to the door, holding it open for his date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, and I’m sorry. The bad news is that it cuts off here for now. The good news is that you get two full, fluffy chapters of them enjoying each other after this. I also promise that all the rest of the chapters (except the epilogue) will be longer than this. Pretty significantly so. In fact, at least one chapter is over seven thousand words. I hope that mitigates any frustration with me for cutting _this_ chapter off at the beginning of their date.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley followed Aziraphale, who was in turn following the hostess, as she led them out onto the veranda. She gestured to a table with a smile and Crowley hastened his steps to pull Aziraphale’s chair out for him. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile that made him feel rather fuzzy, but he did manage to smile in return and get himself into the chair across from Aziraphale. 

They had barely sat down when a waitress appeared, a sunny smile on her face. Aziraphale ordered a lemonade, and Crowley copied him. The waitress smiled again, told them she’d be back in just a minute with their drinks, and left them the menus. Crowley opened his, desperate for something to do with his hands to combat his nervousness, but was surprised when Aziraphale didn’t immediately pick up his own menu. The blond man instead picked up his rose, smiling softly at it, then snapped the stem about three inches from the bottom of the bud. 

Crowley gaped at him, stunned. “What are you doing?” 

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away, he just kept smiling his soft smile. He laid down the broken stem and raised the bud to his lapel, sliding the stem into a little, hidden hole there, giving himself a boutonniere. 

“There,” he said with some satisfaction. “I don’t have a pin, I’m afraid, but I think that will hold.”

Crowley was utterly flabbergasted, his jaw slack. He’d only ever seen gentlemen wear boutonnieres on formal, romantic occasions, like weddings or proms. At weddings, he knew it signified that the wearer was an honored person of some sort. But on other occasions, Crowley had always taken it to mean that the wearer was spoken for. Did it have the same connotation to Aziraphale? Could him wearing the flower Crowley had brought him _mean_ something?

Well, whether or not it meant something to Aziraphale, it meant something to _Crowley_. He was utterly over the moon. 

“Suits you,” he said with a bright smile across the table at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale smiled back. “Thank you. I love it, and I want to show it off.”

Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever been more chuffed. 

Aziraphale opened his menu and looked down at it. Crowley tore his eyes away and looked at his own menu, trying to focus on the restaurant’s offerings and decide on something for lunch. 

“What’s good here?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ve never had anything here that wasn’t utterly scrummy.”

Crowley bit back a laugh at ‘scrummy’. Was there anything about this man that wasn’t adorable?

“Well, what do you recommend?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I think I’m going to have the braised salmon.”

“That sounds good. I think I’ll have that,” Crowley decided, although he’d barely heard what Aziraphale had said. He’d been too focused on Aziraphale’s lips to concentrate. 

He lay down his menu and Aziraphale did the same, a small, bashful smile on his face as he looked down at his hands. Crowley just watched him, fascinated. He couldn’t help it. Aziraphale was just so… _captivating_. 

“I was pleased you called,” Aziraphale said, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “Although I was surprised that you called today instead of tomorrow.”

“Honestly, angel, I couldn’t wait another damn minute to call.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinked a little, and his smile grew. “Really?”

“Yes. It took nearly all of my willpower not to ring you last night at one minute after midnight, when I filed the story and was finally done with the fucking thing.”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, but his blush deepened. “You could have. I was still awake.”

“You’re a night owl?”

“A bit. I don’t always sleep well.”

Crowley grinned. “I’m a bit of a night owl, myself. I think most reporters are. Editors don’t care what hours you work, so long as the stories get written. So I have some flexibility, in that way.”

Aziraphale looked as if he were about to say something, but the waitress reappeared with their drinks and took their orders. Crowley did his best to be pleasant despite the interruption, but was greatly pleased when the waitress flitted off with their orders and he was once again left alone with Aziraphale. 

“What did you think of the article?” he asked, just for something to say.

Aziraphale took a sip of his lemonade, and Crowley’s eyes were drawn to the shine of liquid on his lips. He nearly made a noise when Aziraphale’s small, pink tongue darted out to lick them. _Jesus_. 

“It was lovely,” Aziraphale was saying, unaware that Crowley was fighting an erection under the table. “I’ve rarely read an article that I’ve enjoyed more.”

“Rarely?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow in a blatant attempt at flirting.

Aziraphale flushed adorably. “Well, I do read the society pages religiously. And your article was very different.”

“How so?” Crowley asked, then took a sip of his lemonade.

“It had a unique style to it. It wasn’t just the cut-and-dried presentation of facts, but it wasn’t all hyperbole either. It had… flair.”

Crowley smirked at him. “That’s me, angel. I’m known for my flair.”

Aziraphale’s face, which had started to return to its normal color, reddened again. “I’m quite sure you are, dear.”

They were silent for a minute, and Crowley looked around the veranda of the restaurant. “This is nice.”

Aziraphale hummed and looked around as well. “I like this cafe. They opened about six years ago or so, and I’ve become something of a regular.”

“It’s nice,” Crowley repeated. “Although I have to admit, it’s not where I’d planned to take you on our first date.”

“Oh? You had something in mind?”

Crowley had had many, many ideas about dating Aziraphale, but didn’t say that. It wouldn’t do him good to seem _too_ eager.

“Yes. I had planned to take you somewhere like the Ritz on our first date.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide. “The Ritz!”

“Somewhere like that. Somewhere impressive.”

“You don’t have to do that, dear. I find you plenty impressive as it is.” There was a flash of surprise on Aziraphale’s face, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that, then he glanced away and his face glowed scarlet. Crowley could have flown away. 

“I _want_ to take you somewhere nice, angel. It would be my pleasure.”

Aziraphale seemed to recover, although his cheeks were still pink. “Well, if you’d really like to, maybe we could go there sometime soon.”

That answer indicated that Aziraphale would be willing to see him again, and Crowley’s smile grew. Excellent. Fucking _excellent_.

Their food arrived and they tucked in right away. Crowley had braced himself for Aziraphale to make those little sounds of pleasure when he ate. He’d thought he was ready for it, but the moan Aziraphale gave when he took a bite of his salmon still hit Crowley like a damn lorry. He just stared at the other man, entranced, while his body redirected all blood flow to his cock. 

When Aziraphale opened his eyes, Crowley was still staring. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind, he just chewed slowly with a smile, then swallowed, smiling brighter, and said, “Absolutely wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, although he wasn’t talking about the salmon that he hadn’t even touched yet. “Wonderful.”

He finally tore his eyes away and started eating his own meal, ignoring his semi-erect cock. There was nothing he could do about it now, but he knew very well that when he got home, he was due for the wank of a lifetime. Possibly more than one.

“So you’re interested in botany?” Aziraphale asked a minute later.

Crowley nodded, swallowing his food. “I am. I even took some classes in it at uni. Did I tell you that already?”

“You did, but I don’t mind if you repeat yourself a bit,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “What sparked your interest? If I may ask?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. My mother was a dab hand with green things. There was nothing she couldn’t grow, either in our house or in the tiny garden. She always enjoyed talking to them, too, actually. It’s a habit I picked up.”

Aziraphale’s lips were quirked in amusement. “You talk to your plants?”

Crowley felt his cheeks darken, but he admitted, “Yeah, I do sometimes. Or I talk to Freddie. They don’t talk back, of course, but I find that if I talk about a problem or whatever, if I lay it all out aloud, I’ll often see things from a different light.” He panicked a little, thinking he sounded as nutty as Anathema. That would be bad. He needed to make the best possible impression today. So he scrambled to clarify. “It’s mad, I know, but I promise I’m not a nutter.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re a nutter. Not at all. I’m sure I’d do the same if I had anyone to talk to besides my books.”

It was a relief to know that Aziraphale didn’t think he was mad. He hadn’t ruined anything. Good. “What kinds of books do you like?”

Aziraphale laughed lightly. “Oh, there isn’t much I won’t read, really.”

“Do you prefer fiction or nonfiction?”

He looked thoughtful for a second. “I enjoy both. I read a lot of biographies, and I went through a phase where I read nearly all the philosophy I could get my hands on, but I suppose I’d have to admit to reading more fiction - at least lately.” 

Crowley picked at his food. “Novels?”

“Yes, I do enjoy a good novel. It’s so nice to be able to get lost in other people’s lives for a while and forget your own. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll take your word for it, angel. I don’t read much.”

Aziraphale looked as if Crowley had slapped him. “You don’t read?”

Shit. He scrambled to backpedal. “I mean, of course I _read_ , I’m a writer, after all. I just don’t do a lot of reading for pleasure.”

Aziraphale’s mouth was still screwed up in a frown, but he didn’t look as deeply offended. “Is it because you don’t have time?”

Crowley grasped the lifeline like a drowning man. “That’s part of it, I suppose, but it’s mostly that I do so much reading and research for my work, I’m just… burned out on it, I guess.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Aziraphale said, then turned his attention to his food. 

Crowley felt like an idiot, like he’d blown it. Shit! What should he do?

“Maybe,” he started, seeking to mitigate the damage he’d done, “Maybe, as you get to know me better, you could recommend something you think I’d like.”

Aziraphale’s face cleared and a small smile appeared. The weight at the center of Crowley’s chest lightened just a bit. “You’d like that?”

The more he thought about it, the more he thought he’d love it. Curling up on the sofa late at night, his head in Aziraphale’s lap, reading a book or something on his mobile while Aziraphale read above him? Fuck yes, he’d love that. Maybe Aziraphale would even play with his hair. Crowley nearly purred from the very thought. 

Shaking aside that mental image, he shrugged and tried to play it cool. “Maybe. I’m open minded.”

“Well, I’ll start trying to think of stories I think you’d like, then.”

Crowley returned his smile. “Good.” And it _was_ good. More confirmation that Aziraphale was willing to see him again. It was better than good. It was fucking _brilliant_.

The waitress appeared to check on them, pitcher of lemonade in hand, and they assured her that they were fine. She disappeared as quickly as she came, and again, Crowley was glad. 

“So Anathema tells me you like Shakespeare?” Crowley said. 

To his surprise, Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I’ll bet she did. I’ve never seen anyone so eager to meddle in someone else’s romantic life.”

Crowley forced a chuckle, although he was suddenly nervous. “Yes, she did seem hell bent on getting us together. But… is that so terrible? Matchmaking, I mean?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks glowed again. “No, of course not. I’m - well, I’m rather glad she sought to play matchmaker.”

The anxiety lifted off of Crowley’s shoulders and he felt his face relax into a smile. If Aziraphale was glad that Anathema had been playing matchmaker, that was a _very_ good thing, indeed.

“I am, too, angel. Fucking ecstatic she did that.”

Aziraphale gave him a shy smile, and Crowley winked behind his glasses. It seemed Aziraphale saw it anyway, because he flushed.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale strode along the park path, Crowley walking beside him. Crowley’s hands were shoved in his pockets (which seemed to be a minor miracle, considering how tight his trousers were) and Aziraphale had his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He didn’t usually walk with his hands together, but he was trying to keep himself from reaching out to touch Crowley. It wasn’t that he thought his touch would be unwelcome - he was now rather certain that it would be _quite_ welcomed, inexplicable as that was - it was more than he didn’t trust himself with touching Crowley yet. There was a war being waged within his own mind, his brain arguing with instinct. The question of whether or not to date Crowley, to pursue a relationship, had been answered. He very much wanted a relationship with this man. The question now was about the _pace_ of that relationship. 

His logical brain was telling him to take things slow, as slow as possible. Aziraphale hadn’t dated in quite a long time, and jumping into a romantic entanglement after so many years on his own was probably not a good idea. The wise thing to do would be to take things glacially slow, as slow as he could stand it, and let things evolve naturally, over time. To let romance blossom between them. Perhaps they could hold hands, maybe a kiss to the cheek at the end of the date. But no more than that, certainly. 

His emotions, on the other hand, his heart and his primal, lizard brain, were screaming at him to take a flying leap into Crowley and not look back, to let himself go. His emotions were telling him that this was _good_ , this was _natural_ , and he should open himself wide to whatever this was as fast as possible. That happiness was suddenly within his grasp, and he should clutch it with both hands immediately and not let go for anything. His instinct was to grab Crowley by the lapels of his black jacket, drag him over to a secluded copse of trees, and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. To get his hands all over that lean body and absolutely _claim_ Crowley as his very own. Sod going slow, his emotions were screaming. Want. Take. Kiss. Touch. _Now_.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure which to listen to, his logic or his emotions, and couldn’t think clearly when Crowley was so near. Everything felt so new to him, so fragile, like a spring blossom, and he was terribly afraid of making some kind of misstep and ruining this wonderful thing. He needed to _think_ before he acted, and right now, the way he was feeling, even the slightest touch may be too much. He may not be able to stop himself from seeking more. He had no idea if that would be a good thing or a bad thing, so until he decided, he’d keep his hands clasped behind his back. 

They were chatting lightly as they walked, not discussing anything of any importance. It was comfortable - more comfortable than Aziraphale had felt around any other person in a long time, except maybe Tracy. But he felt much differently about Crowley than he did about Tracy. Miles and miles differently. 

The duck pond was just ahead, and Aziraphale noticed that his favorite bench was free. He turned to Crowley. “Would you like to feed the ducks?”

One eyebrow rose from behind Crowley’s glasses. “Feed the ducks?”

“Oh, yes. I do it whenever I come to the park, if I’m able to get a bench. They’re quite amusing to watch.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever fed a duck before,” Crowley allowed. 

Aziraphale grinned. “It’s very simple. Would you like to?”

Crowley smiled. “Lead the way, angel.”

Aziraphale led them over to the vendor who sold little bags of duck feed, and Crowley bought each of them a bag. Then they made their way over to Aziraphale’s favorite bench overlooking the pond and had a seat. He noticed that Crowley was sitting a little closer than necessary, only a little less than a foot separating them, and the proximity was dizzying.

“So I just…” Crowley started, gesturing with his little bag of food towards the ducks who were gathering, waiting for their meal. 

“Just take a small handful and toss it out, like so,” Aziraphale instructed, demonstrating. The ducks scrambled and made a show of themselves, and he grinned - first at them, then at Crowley. 

Crowley did as he’d been shown, tossing out some of the feed and laughing with delight when the ducks scrambled. They fed the ducks side by side, sometimes pointing out one specific duck to the other, chatting easily. Aziraphale would steal glances at Crowley whenever he could, just taking in his gorgeous profile. From this angle, he could see the crinkling lines beside his eyes when he smiled, as well as a smattering of freckles across his nose and scattered along his cheekbones. Oh, heavens, he was simply _gorgeous_. Aziraphale felt something inside him curl with _want_ \- but he also felt the warm glow of affection. It was all very new, but not at all unpleasant.

“I don’t think I told you,” Crowley began, still feeding the ducks, “but the wedding was beautiful. You did a remarkable job.”

Aziraphale glowed under the praise. “Thank you. It was quite a delight to plan.”

Crowley chuckled. “We’re not on the record, angel. Besides, my article is over and done with. You can be candid with me.”

He smiled at that and tossed a handful of feed to the ducks. “Oh, alright, I’ll admit it. There were aspects of this wedding that were a little more challenging. But it _was_ fun. Anathema really was a delight to work with - _most_ of the time. I very much enjoyed getting to know her.”

“I’ve enjoyed getting to know her, too. She’s what my mother would have called a ‘colorful character’.”

He laughed a little. “Yes, she is.”

They fed the ducks for a couple of minutes while Aziraphale tried to work up the courage to ask the question that was burning in his mind. He bit his lip, then mentally squared his shoulders and dove headfirst. 

“So we discussed Anathema playing matchmaker…”

“Yes?”

His heart was in his throat, and he debated whether or not to go ahead. He swallowed, then asked, “How did she go about that with you?”

Crowley turned to give him a smirk. “Are you asking me to tell you what she said about you?”

Aziraphale flushed, embarrassed, but nodded. “Yes. I’m dying of curiosity.”

Crowley’s smile grew. “I’ll tell you what she said about _you_ if you tell me what she said about _me_.”

“Deal,” Aziraphale agreed automatically. “But you go first.”

The red haired man huffed a laugh and turned back to the ducks. “She started talking you up right away. When I was interviewing her, she kept bringing you up, asking me why I wouldn’t ask you out. She said our stars were aligned or compatible or some such.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yes, she said and did much the same to me.”

Crowley was watching the ducks, but his cheeks flushed a little. “She, um, she told me that you’d admitted to being attracted to me.”

He felt his own cheeks burn. “She did?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. And she nagged me until I admitted I was attracted to you, too.”

Something washed over Aziraphale, some warm wave of emotion, and he smiled. He’d known Crowley was attracted to him, that was obvious by his actions, but hearing it voiced aloud felt heavenly. 

The moment was frozen between them until Crowley went ahead. “I told her I wanted to ask you out, but I couldn’t because of my job. You were a source on a story, and asking you out before I was finished would have been a breach of ethics.” He threw the last of his duck feed, folded the bag, and dusted his hand off his jeans. He didn’t look at Aziraphale when he said, “It nearly ate me alive to have to wait those two weeks to ask you out. Somehow, they were simultaneously the longest two weeks of my life - and the fastest.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply right away, he just looked out over the duck pond pensively. Without really thinking about it, he threw the last of his duck feed, folded the bag neatly, then lay it on the bench beside him, his hand covering it.

“She was after me to ask you out, too,” he admitted, staring at the glistening water. He didn’t dare look at Crowley, not right now. This was too vulnerable. Safer to look away. “I gave her all kinds of excuses why I couldn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I think first I claimed that we needed to maintain a professional working relationship. She shot that down rather quickly. Then I told her I didn’t think you… um…” He stumbled a bit, then recovered. “I didn’t think you’d be attracted to someone like me. I thought you were straight.”

Crowley huffed a laugh beside him, his gaze also directed to the duck pond. “I’m a lot of things, angel, but I’m not in any way straight.”

“Yes, that’s what she said.”

“I also think you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly, still staring straight ahead. 

Aziraphale felt that warm wave envelop him again. “You do?” he asked, finally chancing a glance at Crowley. 

The red haired man turned to him, and his face was sincere. “Yeah, angel. I do.”

He just basked in that for a moment, smiling to himself, then they turned back to the ducks. 

“Were those the only reasons you gave her?” Crowley asked quietly. “Because Anathema mentioned one more.”

Aziraphale froze. “What did she say?”

“She said that you claim not to believe in love.”

He swallowed hard, his mind racing. “She did?”

“Yes, she did. And Tracy Shadwell told me the same thing.”

Aziraphale desperately wanted to explain, to tell Crowley something - anything - that would swat away the hesitancy he heard in the other man’s voice. But Aziraphale _had_ said that, had professed that, for years. And he’d believed it. At least, he’d _thought_ he believed it. Now, though, in the September sunshine, sitting on a bench with Crowley, he wasn’t so sure. 

But he had to say _something_. How honest should he be?

If he were going to have a relationship with Crowley - which he very much wanted to do - he knew he needed to be completely honest. There was a risk he could get hurt by making himself so vulnerable, but he rather thought that the reward might just be worth the risk. He was sure it would be. 

So he took a deep breath and said, “That’s an opinion I’ve expressed in the past - that love is a wonderful thing that happens to other people, not to me. I think, if I’m being completely honest, though, it was something I said to avoid getting myself into situations where I could be hurt. I said it to attempt to soothe the sting of being surrounded by couples who were madly in love, day in and day out, then going home to my empty flat, full of nothing but books. I think it was an attempt at armor for myself.”

“Did you believe it? _Do_ you believe it?”

Aziraphale thought for a second. “I think I was trying to make myself believe it. I think I was trying to speak it into truth. Maybe if I said it enough, I could make it be real. But I don’t think I spent much time allowing myself to think about it too deeply, or the armor I’d created for myself might have fallen apart like candy floss.”

Crowley just hummed in response, and they fell silent. Aziraphale fervently hoped that what he’d said had been enough, that he’d explained himself well enough, and he wished Crowley would say something to let him know what he was thinking. But Crowley remained silent. Finally, Aziraphale could stand it no longer. He asked, “I’m terribly curious - what did you say when they both told you that?”

“I didn’t say much to either of them, I don’t think. Anathema was the first to tell me, and I didn’t like hearing it one bit. I think I accused her of raining on my parade. It wasn’t news when Tracy told me, so I don’t think I reacted at all to her. But I certainly didn’t tell either of them what I really thought.”

Unable to resist, Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley again. “What did you really think?”

Crowley turned his head to face him. “I thought - and I still think - that I’d like to be the man to change your mind.”

His stomach swooped, like he’d missed a step walking down the stairs, like he’d nearly fallen. Wildly, he wondered if that was exactly what had just happened - if he’d fallen. 

Crowley turned back towards the pond, and Aziraphale did, too, his mind spinning and full. Was this what it felt like to fall in love? It was certainly different from anything he’d ever felt before, ever in his long life. Was Crowley already proving him wrong?

He was surprised when he felt something against his little finger, resting on the bench. He looked down to see Crowley’s hand inching towards his, his long finger brushing against Aziraphale’s. A second later, Crowley had linked his finger through Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale thought he would explode with joy. He stared down at their linked fingers for a minute, a smile growing across his face, then looked up at Crowley. The other man’s face was anxious, drawn, but a little hopeful. 

“Is that alright?” he asked softly, almost too soft to hear, and Aziraphale didn’t know what he was asking about, the touch or what he’d said, but it didn’t matter. It was all alright.

Aziraphale nodded, smiling. “Yes. It’s alright. But,” He moved his hand until he and Crowley were palm to palm, and threaded their fingers together so they were holding hands properly. “This is better.”

Crowley’s face bloomed into a smile, and Aziraphale knew he’d finally met his match. He wanted to kiss Crowley right then, to taste him, to seal this thing and make it official, but he held back. Soon. They had all the time in the world. 

“I’ll tell you one thing, angel,” Crowley said, turning back to the duck pond. “I’m very, _very_ glad that Anathema decided to meddle.”

Aziraphale traced his thumb along the back of Crowley’s hand affectionately and looked out at the water. “Me too, dear. Me, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley wasn’t a religious man, and hadn’t been since his childhood. He wasn’t sure if he believed in heaven or not, but he’d decided that if heaven _were_ real, then he was currently experiencing it. 

They’d sat on the bench together in the warm September sunshine for over an hour, talking about anything and everything, getting to know one another better. Crowley had learned that Aziraphale’s parents were religious scholars who had died when he was in his twenties. He had revealed that his own father had died when he was young, leaving him to be raised by a single mother. They’d discussed their childhoods and touched on past relationships. They’d revealed their birthdays - Crowley would turn forty-one in March, and Aziraphale would be forty-three in a couple of weeks, on 12 October. They’d laughed a little about Anathema’s insistence that their stars were aligned and they were destined to be together, even while Crowley privately, silently wished that it were true. They’d ventured into deeper conversation and talked about philosophies they held and beliefs they lived by. Nothing Aziraphale had revealed had given Crowley even a hint of a second thought about pursuing a relationship with him. He was absolutely certain that he wanted to be with Aziraphale, as sure as he was that the sun that was starting to set would rise again tomorrow. 

In return, he’d been as open and candid with Aziraphale as he could possibly be. He was determined to present himself in as honest a light as he could, while not scaring off his angel. It was a delicate balance, but it seemed he’d achieved it - nothing he’d said had caused Aziraphale to release his hand, and Crowley was thrilled. 

When the shadows started to lengthen, they’d gotten to their feet to leave. Aziraphale had dropped his hand then, much to Crowley’s disappointment, and he’d jammed his own hands in his pockets. But his disappointment hadn’t lasted long. Once they were back on the park’s path, strolling towards the exit, Aziraphale had slid his hand into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. In that moment, with just that gentle touch, Crowley was sure if he’d had wings he could have taken flight. 

Aziraphale had kept his hand looped through Crowley’s arm until they’d exited the park and were headed towards Soho. Crowley had found himself itching for the touch of Aziraphale’s skin against his again, and withdrew his hand from his pocket. Without saying a word, Aziraphale had slid his hand down Crowley’s arm until he could capture it in his own hand. Crowley’s heart had soared at the contact, and he’d looked over at Aziraphale, smiling like an idiot. Aziraphale had been smiling, too, his cheeks rosy and eyes downcast, as if shy. Crowley had wanted to kiss the breath out of him. He was starting to find that the desire to do so was near-constant, and it was only getting stronger. Soon, he hoped. He’d be able to kiss him soon. 

His instinct was to rush into this, to dive headfirst into love, but he knew better than to do that. Aziraphale had been single for almost ten years, he’d said, and probably wanted to take things slow. Crowley could do that. He could let Aziraphale set the pace and follow his lead. There was no rush, not really. As long as Aziraphale let him keep seeing him, he could be patient. For Aziraphale, he could do _anything_.

Idly, he wondered if it were possible to fall in love with someone after only having known them a month and going on one date. 

“This has been lovely,” Aziraphale said, breaking into Crowley’s thoughts. 

“So you don’t feel as if you’ve wasted your day off?” he asked teasingly, hoping the edge of nerves he felt wasn’t obvious in his voice. 

“Oh, heavens, no. Not at all. I can’t imagine anything I could have done today that I would have enjoyed more.”

Crowley grinned and squeezed his hand. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

They walked in silence for a little ways, their steps slow, almost meandering. Crowley wasn’t eager for this date to end, and it seemed Aziraphale wasn’t either. That was a relief, too. 

From beside him, Aziraphale sighed. “Back to the grind tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Yes, for me too, although I have to admit that my workload has been much lighter recently compared to when I’m on the political beat.”

“Do you miss it terribly?”

Crowley nodded. “I do. It’s what I’m good at. And even though it’ll mean that I’m busier, I’m very much looking forward to going back.”

“When do you expect to go back?”

“Bee - my editor - they said a couple of weeks, and that was a couple of weeks ago. So, soon.”

They were quiet a little longer, then Aziraphale asked, in a soft voice, “Do you have _any_ free time in your usual job?”

Crowley was nearly one hundred percent certain he knew what Aziraphale was getting at, but didn’t want to be presumptive. Still, he wanted to reassure him, so he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and turned to look at him. When Aziraphale looked up, Crowley told him with all the sincerity he could gather in his voice, “Angel, for things that are important to me, I’ll _make_ time. I promise.”

Aziraphale smiled, a flush darkening his cheeks, and looked away coquettishly. Crowley couldn’t help himself, he raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale’s smile grew even brighter - as did his flush - and he bit his lip endearingly. Crowley turned back to watch where they were walking, but was thrilled when Aziraphale brought his free hand up to hold Crowley’s elbow. He was even more thrilled when he felt Aziraphale’s head rest on his shoulder a moment. His shampoo smelled clean and fresh, like linen on a summer breeze, and Crowley suddenly felt a little drunk. 

“I think it goes without saying,” he began a few steps later, when Aziraphale had raised his head but was still holding his hand and his elbow, “but I’d like to see you again.”

“You would?” Aziraphale asked, looking up with smiling eyes. 

Crowley nodded at him. “Yeah, I would. I’d like to see you as much as you’ll let me.”

Aziraphale giggled and hugged his arm a little. Crowley took it as a good sign.

“When?” Aziraphale asked.

“Whenever you’re free. Weekends are out for you, I assume.”

“Yes, they usually are. I always have at least one wedding every weekend, more often two. Occasionally I’ll have three or even four.”

“So a weeknight would be better.”

“Yes. Can you make that work with your schedule?”

“Absolutely.”

“Even when you go back to politics?”

Crowley squeezed his hand. “I already told you, angel. For you, I’ll _make_ it work.”

The blush was back on Aziraphale’s cheeks. “You said that for things that were important to you.”

“I did. And I meant you.”

Aziraphale’s face was glowing now, and Crowley wanted to kiss him so badly he could hardly stand it. 

“What are you doing Wednesday evening?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley’s heart sped up a bit. “Absolutely nothing. Can I take you to dinner? Maybe a play?”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “I’d like that.”

If it were possible to fucking glow with happiness, Crowley would have been. “Yeah?”

The blond man nodded. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

“Perfect. That’s fucking _perfect_ , angel. Can I - should I ring you to hammer out the details?”

Aziraphale nodded. “You can. But you can also ring me anytime you like. Or text me. You don’t need a reason. I’d just… I’d like to hear from you.”

“You might not want to tell me that,” Crowley warned. “You might get sick of me.”

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine ever being sick of you.”

Crowley beamed, happier than he could ever remember being. He was holding hands with the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on, making plans for another date, and that beautiful creature was inviting him to reach out as much as he liked. This was the start of something wonderful, he just _knew_ it.

Aziraphale pulled them to a halt outside an old bookshop and turned to face him. Crowley was confused for only a moment until Aziraphale said, “This is my stop.”

Crowley looked up at the bookshop. “Your flat is above?”

“Yes. Second floor.” 

He turned back to look at Aziraphale and took a moment just to take him in. The sun had set, but the neon lights of Soho illuminated him well. The colored lights cast interesting patterns on his cherubic face, and his cottony hair almost seemed to glow. Crowley desperately wanted to kiss him, desperately wanted to reach up and caress that beautiful face, desperately wanted to be invited up to Aziraphale’s flat… he just desperately _wanted_. But any of that would be too forward, he knew. So he stayed silent.

“May I ask you a favor, Crowley?”

“You can ask me for anything, angel.”

“Would you mind taking your glasses off for a moment? I do so want to see your eyes.”

There was nothing he’d deny Aziraphale, not if it were in his power to give, and this was such a simple thing. Without hesitation, he raised his free hand and removed his glasses, revealing himself. He couldn’t help but be nervous as he looked into Aziraphale’s eyes for the first time without any sort of barrier, but the expression he found was soft. And heaven help him, the angel was even more gorgeous without the tint of his shades. 

“They’re brown,” he murmured, almost too quietly to hear. “I’d wondered.”

Crowley swallowed and gave him an unsure smile. “Alright?”

“Perfect. You’re absolutely gorgeous, darling.”

His heart thudded at the use of the word ‘darling’ and he started to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but every thought flew out of his head when he felt a gentle hand on his cheek. The next thing he knew, soft lips were pressing against his and _oh, yes._

He melted into the kiss, sliding his lips over Aziraphale’s soft mouth. He released the hand he’d been holding all through Soho and reached out to touch Aziraphale tentatively, to draw him closer, one hand cradling his face and the other coming to rest on Aziraphale’s bicep. He wanted to pull him even closer, to hold him close and never let go, but this moment was so fragile, so tender, he was desperately afraid of spoiling it. 

Aziraphale’s lips parted over his and he followed suit. He nearly swooned when he felt the wet warmth of Aziraphale’s tongue on his bottom lip, and gave into the impulse to pull Aziraphale closer, wrapping one arm around the other man and sliding his hand into his cottony hair. 

Time seemed to race and stand still, the world spinning around him, but before Crowley could deepen the kiss further, Aziraphale pulled away slowly, making Crowley give a low, involuntary whine in the back of his throat. 

They retreated only an inch or so, their breaths coming quickly and mingling in the small space between them. Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley smiled in return, feeling dazed and happy. 

“You’ll ring me? Or text?” Aziraphale asked, almost a whisper. 

Crowley nodded. “Tomorrow. Tonight, if you want.”

Aziraphale smiled again. “Tomorrow will be good.”

Crowley pressed a little kiss to his pink lips, soft and full of promise. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Thank you for today, Crowley. For everything.”

“Angel, trust me, it was my pleasure. Every moment of it.”

“Especially this one?” 

Crowley grinned. “Especially this one.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, soft and sweet and all too brief. “Goodnight, Crowley,” he said when the kiss broke. 

“Goodnight, angel.”

Aziraphale gave him one more smile, then stepped backwards out of his embrace. Crowley’s instinct was to pull him back, to hold him and not let go, but he resisted. He simply stood there and watched as Aziraphale turned to go to the door to the stairwell, then smiled at him when Aziraphale smiled over his shoulder and opened the door. 

“Goodnight,” he repeated. 

“Goodnight,” Crowley echoed. 

Aziraphale disappeared into the stairwell and Crowley just stood there for a minute, trying to process everything that had happened. His head was buzzing and he felt like he was floating on a cloud. He couldn’t stop smiling at the empty doorway Aziraphale had just passed through. At that moment, he didn’t think he’d _ever_ be able to stop smiling. 

Feeling lighter than air, he turned on his heel, jamming his hands into his pockets, and strolled towards his car, certain that of all the billions of men in the world, none of them were happier than Anthony J. Crowley in that moment.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale shut the door to his flat behind him and leaned against it, joy bubbling within him. He’d just kissed Crowley and it was, without a doubt, hands down, the best kiss of his life. It was like every romantic cliche he’d ever read in his books had all happened at once - fireworks exploding, time standing still, and birds singing. His heart was so full of bright, radiant _joy_ that he could hardly contain it. He felt like he would combust with excitement. He’d _kissed_ Crowley. He’d kissed _Crowley_!

With a happy sigh, he pushed off the door and wandered towards the kitchen. He hummed a jaunty tune as he removed the white rosebud from his lapel and sniffed it one last time, then filled a juice glass with water and put the rose in. He had every intention to press the rose - he _definitely_ wanted to keep that memento forever - but he thought he’d like to enjoy looking at it for a couple of days first. He sat it in a prominent place on his table, giving it a fond smile, then left the room, shutting the light off behind him. 

He made his way to the lounge, still humming, and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it neatly on the coat rack by the door before he sauntered over to his favorite armchair. He collapsed into it with another happy sigh, leaning his head back against the chair and closing his eyes. Crowley’s scent was still on his clothes - musk and spice and something almost smoky - and he could still taste Crowley on his lips. But the best thing - the absolute _best_ thing - was that in three days, he’d get to do it all over again. He’d get to touch Crowley, to hold hands with him again, to hold him close and kiss him. Three days. 

Aziraphale couldn’t wait.

His mobile went off beside him, playing Tracy’s ringtone, and he raised his head to look at it. It only took a second of debate before he grabbed the phone and answered it, his smile still plastered on his face. 

“Tracy, my dear, how are you?” he answered. 

“Aziraphale?”

He smiled brighter at her puzzled tone. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m peachy keen, my dear. Better than that. I’m so very much better than alright, Tracy. I’m _wonderful_.”

The confusion was evident in her voice. “What happened?”

“I just got back from a date,” he told her, grinning from ear to ear.

“A date?!”

“Mhm.”

“With Crowley, I take it?”

Aziraphale felt himself light up a little just from the sound of his name. “Yes, with Crowley.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news, dear. Wonderful news, indeed.”

“Glad you approve.”

“Tell me everything,” she demanded. “I want to know every detail.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t like to kiss and tell,” Aziraphale responded with a mischievous grin, knowing the response that _that_ would get.

“You _kissed_ him?”

“I sure did,” he answered proudly. 

That earned an excited little squeal from Tracy that would have been better suited to a woman forty years her junior, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. The sound made him laugh, too full of joy to try to contain himself.

“How was it?” Tracy asked, sounding almost breathless with eagerness.

“The kiss or the date?”

“Both, obviously, although I think it’s a safe bet that the date went well, given that there even _was_ a kiss.”

“Yes, the date went very well. We went to Angelina’s, the little cafe near my flat.”

“I know the place. Get on to the good bits.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Quite right. So we ate a late lunch, then went for a stroll in St. James Park. We fed the ducks.”

“You fed the ducks?” 

“Yes. It was all rather lovely. We talked for a long while, and before I knew it, we were holding hands. He held my hand all the way back to my flat from the park. Then, when we got back to my flat…” He trailed off, flushing and smiling from the memory. “We said goodnight,” he finished. 

Tracy sighed on the other end of the line. “It sounds so romantic.”

“It was very romantic, indeed,” Aziraphale agreed. 

“When will you see him again?”

“We made plans to see each other on Wednesday, although we didn’t decide what we’re doing just yet.”

“Oh, I bet I know what you’ll do,” she teased, and Aziraphale could almost see her smirk. 

“Oh, stop,” he protested, cheeks flaming.

Tracy chuckled. “I’ll leave you alone for now. Why don’t we go to lunch tomorrow before work and you can give me all the juicy details?”

“You’re assuming two things, Tracy: first, that there even _are_ juicy details, and second, that I’m going to reveal them.”

“No, I think you’ll tell me. I’m your best friend and in full support of this relationship - I’m quite sure you’ll tell me.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t admit it, but he was more than a little sure she was right. But he wasn’t terribly bothered by that. Tracy was right, she really _was_ his closest friend and confidant. Besides, he felt like he’d bubble over with joy if he didn’t let some of it out. Telling Tracy would be ideal.

“We’ll see,” he just said with an impish grin she couldn’t see. “Why were you calling, by the way?”

“Just a tiny matter to do with work. It’s not important. It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You go enjoy your evening. Ride the high you’re on and enjoy every moment.”

Aziraphale grinned. It _did_ feel as if he were a little high. Was that what being in love felt like? He had no idea, but whatever it was, he liked it. It was new, a tiny bit scary, but mostly overwhelming in its goodness.

“Alright, I think I’ll do that. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” she agreed. “Goodnight, Aziraphale.”

“Goodnight, Tracy.”

He hung up and laid the phone down beside him on the table, still smiling. It seemed he’d smiled a ridiculous amount today, but he wasn’t complaining. Oh, no. It felt _brilliant_ to be so happy.

A part of him wondered how _Crowley_ was feeling at the moment. Was he as over the moon as Aziraphale was? Did he feel like he was floating on a cloud, too? Aziraphale dearly hoped so. He hoped Crowley felt even one tenth the excitement and anticipation he did. 

His stomach made a rumbling noise, pulling him from his thoughts, and he glanced down at it, then at the clock. Goodness. He’d been so wrapped up in his date that he’d forgotten to eat dinner. That was a pity. If he’d had a hunger pang sooner, perhaps he could have shared another meal with Crowley. But no matter. He’d be seeing Crowley on Wednesday, would be hearing from him tomorrow, and he had the memory of those magnificent kisses to sustain him until then. 

Aziraphale got to his feet, still smiling, and made his way to the kitchen, humming another little tune about nightingales singing in Berkeley Square.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our story earns its rating, and then a small fly lands in the ointment.

_28 September, 2020_

Crowley’s alarm blared to life on the nightstand and he groaned as he rolled over, throwing out a hand blindly to silence it. He’d been cocooned in a dream he very much wanted to get back to... a dream where he’d been with Aziraphale, the two of them sitting on the park bench, kissing and touching. The dream hadn’t been explicit, but it had been heading that way and Crowley wanted to finish it. Once the alarm was silenced he closed his eyes again, attempting to chase the dream, but it was no use. He was awake now, but his conscious mind was just as full of Aziraphale as his unconscious mind had been, just as it had been for _weeks_. Knowing that trying to sleep was a losing battle, he sighed and rolled out of bed, starting his day. 

He’d slept better last night than he’d slept in ages, which he attributed solely to his utter joy over the situation with Aziraphale. He’d come home in something of a daze, his senses still full of _his_ blonde angel of a man, his feet feeling like they were barely touching the ground. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but the afternoon and evening with Aziraphale, his mind conjuring more and more scenarios in which they could be together - some of them achingly romantic, some of them fabulously filthy. He’d taken himself in hand twice, during his more erotic imaginings. Soon, he hoped, he wouldn’t _have_ to take himself in hand. He’d be able to touch Aziraphale. 

_God_ , he couldn’t wait. 

But for now, this morning, he yawned widely and scratched absently at the hair on his bare chest as he made his way to the kitchen. He stepped over Freddie, who was snoozing in his favorite patch of morning sun, then went to start the coffee pot brewing. Once it was gurgling and hissing, telling him that he’d have caffeine in a few minutes, he stepped over Freddie again and went to the bathroom to take his shower. 

While the water heated up behind him, Crowley looked at himself appraisingly in the mirror. His hair was sticking up in every direction and there were fading pillow wrinkles on his face, but he tried to look beyond that, to see what Aziraphale might see. He was forty, would be forty-one soon, but he didn’t think he looked all that bad. He looked his age, certainly, but his years suited him. Aziraphale seemed to think he was attractive, and that was all that mattered to Crowley. 

Crowley reached for his toothbrush as the bathroom filled with steam, thinking of Aziraphale, wondering what he must look like in the morning. He probably slept in fussy pyjamas and wore matching fuzzy slippers that would be ridiculous on anyone else. His hair - those cotton curls - were probably a riot in the morning, and Crowley imagined what Aziraphale’s blue-grey eyes would look like, bleary with sleep. 

He smiled at the thought - but that was nothing unusual. He’d been smiling nearly every time he thought of the wedding planner for weeks, but now he had even more reason to smile. Aziraphale liked him, was attracted to him, and had agreed to see him again. Crowley was nearly beside himself with glee. In all his forty years, he’d never felt an attraction to anyone like this. No man (or woman) had ever appealed to him on such a deep, visceral level. It was like Aziraphale was a star; a brilliant, heavenly body, bright and warm, and Crowley was a planet caught in his orbit, basking in his glow. At this moment, he never, ever wanted to be anywhere else but Aziraphale’s orbit. He could very happily stay like this for the rest of his life, the way he felt right now. And the weirdest thing was that he felt rather sure that that wasn’t just an immediate feeling. He suspected he’d still feel that way about Aziraphale days, months, even years from now. 

Bloody hell, was he in love?

Crowley wiped his mouth, shaking off that thought and resolving to think about it later. He shed his pants and stepped into the shower, loving the heat of the steamy water. How would Aziraphale like his showers, he wondered? Would he like them scalding hot, like Crowley, or would he prefer more temperate water? Crowley hoped to find out - and soon. He’d love nothing more than to join Aziraphale in a shower, both of them utterly nude, bare to the other’s gaze. His cock sprang to attention just thinking about it, and he gave it a little scowl. Damn thing was getting to be a nuisance. He needed to be able to think of Aziraphale without getting aroused. 

He squirted some shampoo into his hands and set to work lathering his hair, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander. God, Crowley would be willing to bet that Aziraphale’s body was absolutely _lush_. Curvaceous. Soft in all the right ways and all the right places. He wanted to explore with his mouth and hands, to map every inch of Aziraphale’s milky skin. He wanted to memorize every freckle, every dimple, every blemish, and kiss each one, showing Aziraphale just how gorgeous he was. 

Alone in his shower, he imagined Aziraphale was there with him. He could picture it so clearly: his white-blond curls wet and dripping, silver rivulets of water sluicing down his perfect body. 

_’Touch me,’ Aziraphale said, his smile beguiling. ‘Kiss me.’_

_Crowley was helpless to do anything but as he was asked, pulling Aziraphale close so their wet bodies were flush, kissing him passionately._

_They kissed and kissed, hands exploring each other’s naked bodies, and Crowley was thrilled to feel Aziraphale’s hard cock brushing against his. He reached between them to touch him, to wrap his hand around Aziraphale’s gorgeous prick._

Lost in his daydream, Crowley reached down with a soapy hand and lightly fisted his own cock. 

_Aziraphale made that sound when Crowley stroked him, the one he made when he ate something delicious, and Crowley twisted his wrist._

His eyes still closed, Crowley tightened his grip on his cock a little and sped up. 

_’Can I suck you?’ he asked Aziraphale, breathless with want._

_’Yes, please, darling,’ Aziraphale replied, and Crowley didn’t waste a second before he fell to his knees. Aziraphale’s cock was thick and heavy in his hand, and absolutely the most luscious thing Crowley had ever seen. He licked his lips in anticipation, then darted his tongue out to catch the pearl of precome on the tip, savoring its taste. Aziraphale groaned above him, and Crowley looked up at him for reassurance before he opened his mouth and took Aziraphale’s cock between his lips._

Crowley groaned aloud, the sound reverberating off the tile walls of his shower, utterly lost to the fantasy. He started bucking his hips, fucking his fist, bracing himself against the wall with his free hand. 

_Aziraphale’s cock filled his mouth, and Crowley set about trying to make him come apart. He bobbed his head, sucking on every upstroke, hollowing his cheeks, seeking to please. Aziraphale’s hand went to his hair, fisting there, and Crowley groaned around the hardness in his mouth. He used his hands to guide Aziraphale’s hips into thrusting, encouraging him to fuck his mouth, and Aziraphale did so, much to Crowley’s delight._

Crowley tightened his fist around his cock and pumped harder, faster. He could feel the hot ball of tension at the base of his spine that signaled orgasm was looming, growing closer and closer, and he didn’t fight it. 

_Aziraphale used him, his hands tight in Crowley’s hair, and Crowley took him as deep as he possibly could, letting Aziraphale fuck his throat. It felt so good, so deliciously_ good _, and all Crowley wanted was for Aziraphale to release, to spill his seed into Crowley’s waiting throat._

_Aziraphale shouted something inarticulate, pulling his cock out of Crowley’s eager mouth suddenly, and coming all over Crowley’s face, hot spurts of come landing on his cheeks, his lips, his chin._

Crowley cried out Aziraphale’s name brokenly, pleasure coursing all through him as he erupted, come splattering the tile of his shower and covering his hand. He kept fucking his fist, his hips stuttering, his mind still full of Aziraphale, the sounds escaping from his throat barely recognizable as human, until he was too sensitive to continue and collapsed against the wall of the shower, panting for breath and tingling with aftershocks. 

“Sweet crispy Jesus,” he gasped, letting his head lean against the tiles. He’d wanked off loads of times over the last several weeks, thinking of Aziraphale - including the two last night - and every time seemed to grow in intensity. He’d never gotten off while thinking of getting _someone else_ off before, but he supposed that was a testament to how much he wanted Aziraphale. Bloody hell. If orgasms were that good while he was just _imagining_ sex with Aziraphale, what would they be like when he had the real thing? Crowley couldn’t possibly imagine - and he couldn’t fucking _wait_ to find out. 

But first, before the sex, he was going to woo Aziraphale. Sweep him off his feet. He was going to win Aziraphale’s heart and claim it as his own. He wasn’t going to rest until Aziraphale was his. And he could get started on that today. He’d plan a perfect date for Wednesday night, something worthy of an angel, and call him after work. Then, on Wednesday, he’d set about to win his heart. 

Maybe he shouldn’t wait. Maybe he should send flowers today. That was a damn fine idea, he decided. He’d take a little time out of work this morning to order flowers - and plan a date. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

But for now, he had to get ready for work. Eight hours, and he could call Aziraphale. He’d hear his voice again and tell him about the plans he’d made for their date. Eight hours. He couldn’t wait. 

With a smile, he rinsed off his hand (and the tile) and grabbed the washcloth.

~*~O~*~

Crowley strode into work, feeling like a million quid. He smiled and nodded to a few people as he made his way to his office, and even offered up a ‘good morning’ or two. More than one person gave him an odd look, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t give less of a fuck, actually. He just smiled and sauntered vaguely towards his desk. 

“Morning, dickhead,” he said cheerfully to Hastur LaVista, his officemate and nemesis. There was a long-standing rivalry between the two men, and how the hell they’d ended up as officemates, Crowley had no idea. Thankfully, neither of them spent much time in the office. Crowley was sure he wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the smell of the bastard if they’d actually been cooped up together all the time. 

Hastur leaned back in his office chair. “Well, well, if it isn’t fucking Crawley. What’s got you so chipper, arsehole?”

Crowley shrugged, taking off his messenger bag and sitting it beside his desk. “Just a lovely day, is all. Or at least it was until you polluted it with your existence.”

“It’s Monday morning,” Hastur pointed out.

“No shit.”

Hastur scoffed. “You’re even more cracked than I’d thought if you’re excited about a Monday morning.”

“That’s me,” Crowley replied, unperturbed. “Mad as a hatter.”

Hastur gave him an appraising look. “Society desk is agreeing with you, I take it?” he sneered in an attempt to taunt Crowley. 

Crowley gave him a malicious grin. “Easiest job I ever had. Fucking cakewalk. It’s so simple, in fact, a fucking moron could do it. You should apply.”

That barb had hit the mark: Hastur’s teeth clenched and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Somebody has to do the heavy lifting in politics while you’re galavanting all over the city eating cucumber sandwiches and taking tea. You know, the _real_ reporting.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Crowley replied, settling down into his chair and pulling his laptop out. “I'll be back on politics very soon, and you can go back to picking through my scraps like the maggot you are.”

Hastur seemed to have had enough. “You know, I’d thought that being demoted to the society desk would humble you a bit, but you’re just as much of a prick as ever. I’m living and breathing for the day that someone or something knocks you off your fucking high horse.”

Crowley scoffed. “Good luck with that. In the meantime, though, I have shit to do that doesn’t involve wasting my breath on the likes of you. So if you’ll excuse me…”

He turned his back on Hastur, still smiling, and opened his laptop. A chuckle nearly bubbled to the surface when he heard the other man muttering to himself, then the squeak of a chair that indicated that Hastur had turned back around. Good. Stupid fucker.

Putting Hastur out of his mind, he pulled up google on his mobile, ignoring his laptop, and stared at the screen for a minute, pondering. After a few moments, he took the plunge, typing ‘perfect date ideas in London’ into the search bar and hitting enter.

He was reading his third article and jotting down notes when his mobile pinged. He looked down at it to see a message from Bee.

Beezle: _come to my office_

From anyone else, that would have felt ominous, but he knew that was just how Bee communicated. Mood still buoyant, he locked his laptop and left to go see what Bee wanted, without a word to Hastur. 

He gave a courtesy knock on the door marked ‘Beezle Prince, Senior Editor’ before pushing it open and striding inside. Beezle was behind the desk, pacing, on the phone, but looked up when Crowley entered. They waved him inside and indicated the chairs across from their desk without a word. Crowley sat obediently. 

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I said. Okay. Yeah. I’m on it. Thanks.” They pulled the phone away from their head and jabbed the screen with a finger, muttering. 

“Bad news?” Crowley asked mildly. 

“It’s nothing,” Beezle said, and Crowley dropped it immediately. 

Beezle picked up the society pages from yesterday’s paper, glancing at it, then plopping in their seat behind the desk. They were so short, it barely made a difference. But what Bee lacked in physical stature, they made up for in sheer presence - Crowley had never known anyone quite as intimidating as Bee. 

“Quite a response to your article,” Bee said casually, laying the paper down. “Quite the response, indeed.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s been the most popular article in the society pages in at least a couple of years.”

He was pleased, but deflected: “I’m sure that’s in large part because of the subject of the article. Anathema is a popular figure, after all.”

“Oh, cut the false humility horseshit,” Bee snapped. “It was good writing and you know it.”

The barb flew right past Crowley, and he continued to grin. “Yeah, I was proud of it. It was good, for what it was.”

Beezle watched him for a minute, their hands clasped on the desk. “It was so good, in fact, I’m tempted to keep you on society. Pump new blood into the place.”

He felt a prickle of alarm - just a prickle. Bee wouldn’t actually do that. Would they?

“I think I’d rather get back to politics, if it’s all the same to you. It’s where I belong and you know it. Nobody else has my instincts.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Well, you’re getting your wish - you’re back on the political beat as of today.”

Crowley punched the air, too excited to hold back. “Yes! Thank you, Bee.”

Beezle was holding up a hand. “ _But_ ,” they said, “you have to write one more article for society. Nothing major, just a side project. It’s not due for a few weeks.”

He deflated, but just a little. Writing up one more wedding wouldn’t take too much of his time - he’d be able to devote most of his professional energy to politics. And his personal energy, he’d be able to devote to Aziraphale. _Perfect._

“Sure. Name it. Who’s getting married this time?”

“It’s not a wedding, it’s a wedding planner,” Beezle explained. “We want you to do a profile on Aziraphale Fell.”

All the wind left Crowley’s sails in one giant ‘whoosh’ and he felt himself tense. “No,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Beezle retorted, equally flat. “You’re going to write an in-depth profile to be published on November first.”

The first of November - that was over a month away! Over a month of having to be around Aziraphale, looking but not touching… he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t fucking strong enough. He _wouldn’t_.

“Bee…” he started, adjusting himself in his chair, leaning forward, preparing to argue but not sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what he _could_ say that wouldn’t give himself away.

Beezle raised one eyebrow. “Yes?”

Crowley swallowed and scrambled for words. “I - I don’t think Mr. Fell would be terribly interested in being the subject of an in depth profile.”

“He may not be, but the owner of his company, Gabriel Messenger, is very much interested in getting this profile written. November and December are their busiest months when it comes to landing new clients, and he wants the publicity. So it’s getting written whether Mr. Fell wants it or not.”

“What does it matter to you what this Gabriel tosser wants?”

They narrowed their eyes at him. “Alright, fine. _I_ want it written.”

Crowley tried again. “Why me? Why not have Michael or Uriel or one of the other society reporters do it? Fuck, stick _anyone_ else on it. Hastur. Hastur would be good. God knows he’s fucking up, left, right, and center trying to fill my shoes.”

“You’re the one doing it because you’re the one who knows Mr. Fell best. You already have a relationship with him. You’ve built rapport.” Crowley started to protest again, but Beezle cut him off. “And because I want you to, that’s why.”

He was starting to feel a little desperate. His mind whirled, trying to think of something to say, but Beezle spoke before he could get a thought out. They leaned forward and their beetle-black eyes were piercing. 

“I know you like him,” Bee said in a low voice. “That’s very clear from your notes. But I _also_ know that you’re a professional and you’d never cross that line, would you? Further, I know that if you want to keep your fucking _job_ , you’ll keep it in your fucking _pants_ until November first.”

Crowley’s mouth worked soundlessly while he tried to work out what to say. Should he tell the truth? Admit that he’d already been on a date and was actively planning more? That he’d kissed Aziraphale the night before? If he admitted that, then Bee would _have_ to let him off the hook, right? Maybe not. Maybe they’d fire him. 

Beezle placed both hands on the desk between them and got to their feet, their eyes never leaving Crowley’s. 

“There will be no funny business with this Fell character while you are writing this story, or you will find yourself facing my wrath. You absolutely _do not want_ to face my wrath. You’ll be _wishing_ I’d simply demote you to society if you piss me off. So you keep your hands to yourself, Crowley. I mean it. Are we clear?”

Crowley swallowed hard, but nodded, utterly defeated. “We’re clear.”

_Fuck._

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale smiled to himself and took a sip of his water. He’d come to lunch with Tracy, fully expecting her to pump him for information about his fledgeling relationship with Crowley, and he’d been right. She was a bit like a dog with a bone and could not be dissuaded from the topic, since they were at lunch and were free to talk about subjects other than work. It didn’t bother Aziraphale, though, not really. He was so happy, he wanted to let some of it out. Telling Tracy all about it would be the perfect outlet. He couldn’t wait to tell Anathema, too. 

Frankly, he wanted to tell the entire world. 

“So you’re seeing each other Wednesday?”

“That’s the plan, yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve no idea, really. He mentioned dinner or maybe a play, but no plans were ever finalized. We were busy doing… other things.”

Tracy gave him a sly smile. She’d already been told all about the kissing. “Dinner where?”

“He mentioned the Ritz.”

“The Ritz!” she exclaimed, and Aziraphale shushed her. 

“You’re making a scene,” he chastised her, even though he was amused. “And yes, the Ritz.”

“Blimey, that’s posh. Been trying to get the Sergeant to take me there for ages, but he doesn’t have anything that would comply with the dress code and I can’t talk him into going shopping.”

“Poor dear,” Aziraphale said almost absently. He was very used to Tracy’s mild complaints about her husband. 

“But you go there all the time, don’t you?”

“No, not all the time, but I’ve been before.”

Tracy grinned at him. “I don’t think it would matter where he took you. It’ll be terribly romantic, no matter what.”

Aziraphale was fairly sure she was right, but didn’t say so. 

“Oh, Aziraphale, I’m so happy for you. Finally falling in love, after all these years.”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” he advised, distracted because his mobile had just chimed. He dug it out of his pocket while he said, “It was just one date.”

“One date - _so far_.”

Aziraphale gave an absent reply, then an equally absent apology for being distracted, his focus on his phone. He had a new message from Crowley. 

Crowley: _Are you busy right now? I need to talk to you._

He’d have expected Crowley to start a conversation with something more casual, maybe some small talk. This directness was mildly concerning, but Aziraphale brushed it aside. He swiped the screen to unlock it and typed out a response. 

Aziraphale: _I’m at lunch with Tracy. Are you okay?_  
Crowley: _call me as soon as you get a minute, if you would_

 _That_ didn’t sound like a request for a call just because he’d missed the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, and the concern was back, prickling the back of his neck. He started getting to his feet, apologizing again to Tracy. 

“I’m sorry, dear, I need to make a call. Please do excuse me.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he made his way out of the restaurant and onto the pavement. He pushed the little icon to ring Crowley, then the phone rang in his ear. Crowley picked it up on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

“Crowley, it’s Aziraphale. Are you alright?”

Crowley sighed through the line, and it made Aziraphale’s heart seize up. 

“I have good news and bad news, angel. It’s bad news to me, at least.”

Aziraphale was a bundle of anxiety, his nerves jangling. “Well, let’s start with the good news.”

“The good news is that I got my wish. I’m back on the political beat. I’m on my way to Westminster now, as a matter of fact.”

A little smile broke through the anxiety, and with it, some relief. Crowley being back on politics meant there were no hindrances to them dating. “That _is_ good news. I’m so happy for you, dear. But what’s the bad news?”

“The bad news is that I have to write one more article for society - a profile on you. To be published on the first of November.”

The bottom dropped out of Aziraphale’s stomach and he nearly staggered. “A profile on me?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale’s mind spun. He didn’t want a profile written on him. There were several reasons why, but the greatest reason, the one screaming at him now, was that he and Crowley couldn’t be together until it was done. 

“I’ll refuse,” he said after a moment, grabbing onto the first thought that made sense. “They can’t make you do it if I refuse, can they?”

“You can’t, angel. I already tried that. I told them you wouldn’t want a profile, but they said your boss would make you do it. Gabriel something. That it would drum up business, and he very much wants this article written.” 

Aziraphale slumped against the brick wall behind him. “There’s no way out of this?” he asked in a small voice. 

“Not that I can see, angel.” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, feeling tears threaten. “And I suppose we can’t see each other until it’s published,” he said in a dull voice. 

“Not romantically,” Crowley answered, sounding just as downtrodden. “I’m so sorry, Aziraphale.”

“It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”

“I wish I could, though. I’d give anything to be able to go ahead, to keep moving on the path we were on.”

Aziraphale swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to sound cheerful. “We will. This is just a detour from that path, that’s all. Five weeks, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“We can handle that,” Aziraphale said with a confidence he didn’t feel. 

There was a pause on the line for a moment, then Crowley asked in a quiet voice, “So you - you’d be willing to wait for me?”

Aziraphale gave a soft smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yes. I rather think I’d be willing to wait for you. I’ve been single for nine years. What’s another month?”

“Thank God,” Crowley exhaled. 

They lapsed back into silence, then Aziraphale said, “So that’s it, then? We’re… on hold until November?”

“Yeah. On hold. That’s a good way to put it.”

“Alright.”

“I - I’ll be in touch to set up times to shadow you and do an interview or two.”

“Yes, that would be very good. I look forward to it.”

Crowley scoffed, but didn’t dispute him. He didn’t need to. Aziraphale felt the same way. 

“Talk to you soon?” he asked, eyes prickling again. 

“Yes. I’ll ring you soon. And we’ll get through this. We will,” he finished on a resolved-sounding note.

“I know we will,” Aziraphale said firmly, closing his eyes again. “Goodbye, Crowley.”

“Bye, angel.”

Aziraphale rang off and sagged against the brick wall. This was an emotional blow, but it wasn’t fatal. As he’d told Crowley, this was simply a detour to the path they’d been on. The pause button had been pressed. And maybe that was good, he told himself bracingly. Maybe this would keep him from rushing headlong into something he wasn’t prepared for. 

But to have come so close, so tantalizingly close to… whatever it was he had with Crowley, then to have it snatched away, put on a high shelf out of reach for a month… Aziraphale couldn’t help the single tear that fell. 

But he couldn’t wallow - _wouldn’t_ wallow. This would be difficult, but he could do it. The reward at the end of this month - being able to be with Crowley - was well worth the agony of having to wait. He’d been alone for most of his life. He could be patient now. As he’d said, what was five more weeks?

Trying hard to convince himself of that, he pushed off the wall, squared his shoulders both literally and mentally, and turned to go back into the restaurant. He’d explain what had happened to Tracy with a stiff upper lip and wait for Crowley to call again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally completely finished the writing of this story yesterday, and wrote these boys a happily ever after. So remember that before you take me out and stone me for the spanner I just threw in the works.


	12. Chapter 12

_1 October, 2020_

Crowley was once again waiting on the pavement outside a florist’s shop, but this time was a bit less joyful. He’d be seeing Aziraphale, yes, and that was brilliant. He couldn’t fucking wait. But he couldn’t kiss him, couldn’t touch him, couldn’t cross the line in the sand that separated them for the next four and a half weeks. He was worried that the constant disappointment of being so close to Aziraphale without being able to be with him properly might drive him insane. 

Today was Thursday, and Crowley had spent the evening before - the evening he was supposed to be spending wooing Aziraphale - sprawled on his couch in his pyjama bottoms, mindlessly staring at the telly. It had been all he’d felt up to doing, after spending the previous two evenings ranting and raving at his plants and Freddie. By last night, the fight had gone out of him and dull acceptance had crept in - he was really going to have to go through with the writing of this profile and wait an entire month to touch Aziraphale again. He felt limp. Defeated. He knew that this was only a temporary setback and he’d be able to restart his pursuit of Aziraphale soon, but what if Aziraphale got bored of waiting in that month? What if he decided Crowley wasn’t worth the wait? Just thinking about that possibility was enough to spike his anxiety to almost unbearable levels while simultaneously making him feel like crawling in a hole and dying. So he’d sat on his couch, staring at Golden Girls reruns without seeing them, letting his mind swirl with worry, sadness, and longing. He’d gone to bed in the wee hours of the morning in much the same state. 

This morning, he’d tried to focus on work. Despite his current emotional state, it was undeniably nice to be back in the political world, and there had been stories aplenty. It hadn’t been hard to get back into the thick of it, and Crowley had used work to distract himself from Aziraphale. It had been somewhat effective, although not entirely. His mind still flitted often to Aziraphale - he was seeing him whenever he saw a blond, or someone wearing a bowtie. He’d seen a flock of ducks the day before and had felt like crying, thinking of their date Sunday. It had been hard to pull himself back from thoughts of his angel, when they came, but he’d managed. Somehow.

But now, he was about to see him, any second now, and he was as excited as he was forlorn. Just being around Aziraphale for a little while as he worked would be enough. It would have to be. 

His heart trilled in his chest when he spotted Aziraphale headed his way on the pavement. The afternoon sun lit his hair, making it nearly glow, and _fuck_ , he was just so beautiful. How could one person be so fucking beautiful? Then Aziraphale smiled, and although it was tentative and a little unsure, it was a balm. It was exactly what Crowley needed to soothe his worried mind. Crowley smiled in return - his first real smile since leaving Bee’s office on Monday. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said when he got close enough. 

“Hi,” Crowley answered, allowing himself a moment just to look at Aziraphale, to take him in. 

There were no words spoken for a minute, although the silence was pregnant with things unsaid. Crowley wanted to touch, to be touched, to reassure, to _be_ reassured… but no words would come, and he didn’t dare touch. So he just stared. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, looking away with pink high on his cheeks, and Crowley forced himself to look away, too. 

“Does the bride know I’m coming?” he asked, desperately trying to be professional. 

“Yes, she was told that there would be a reporter observing us, but that you wouldn’t be interviewing her. Did I get that right?”

“Yeah. I’m only here for you.”

It felt like a flub, like he’d said too much, and his cheeks heated, but he didn’t take it back. It was true - in more than one way. 

“Will you be recording?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. I’ll just be in the corner with my notepad, making notes.”

“Jolly good,” Aziraphale said, and although his tone was cheerful, as was his smile, Crowley could tell it was forced. It made his heart hurt. “Shall we go in and meet the bride?”

He gave as genuine a smile as he felt he could. “Lead the way.”

~*~O~*~

Forty-five minutes later found them back on the pavement in front of the florist’s shop. Crowley hung around, feeling like a third wheel while Aziraphale bade goodbye to the bride.

“I think you’re going to be pleased with the hydrangeas, Ella. I really do.”

The bride smiled brightly. “I’m sure I will. Thank you for everything you’re doing.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear. I’ll see you next week, in my office?”

“Yes, on Wednesday.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Crowley stepped forward and offered his hand. “Thank you so much for letting me barge in,” he said. 

“You’re entirely welcome. Good luck with your article.”

He smiled at her. “Thanks. Best of luck with the wedding.”

Then, with a wave for the two of them, she disappeared into the crowd on the pavement. 

Once she was gone, Aziraphale let out a loud sigh. Crowley turned concerned eyes to his angel. “Are you alright?”

“I suppose I am,” Aziraphale answered, still looking in the direction Ella had gone. “It’s just that pretending there’s nothing bothering me is exhausting.”

Crowley had no idea what to say. On one hand, he hated to even _think_ about anything bothering Aziraphale. He wanted him to be happy all the time. On the other hand, though, he was relieved to know that he wasn’t alone in the way he felt. Aziraphale was bothered, too. It was some small comfort. 

Aziraphale turned to face him, his mouth curved in a tight, strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So what’s next?”

Crowley shook himself from thoughts about how he wanted to kiss Aziraphale until he was nothing but smiles and happiness. “Next. Yes. What’s next. I, um, I’d like to do another interview with you. A more in-depth one, this time.”

“I’m amenable. When?”

His businesslike tone hurt to hear, and Crowley barely refrained from flinching. “Uh, how is Monday? The fifth?”

“Monday is fine. What time?”

“What time is good for you? And where would you like to meet?”

“Let’s go back to that coffee shop. Say around ten? Ten thirty?”

“Ten is fine.”

“Excellent.”

There was an awkward silence, and Crowley had to grit his teeth to keep from saying something stupid. Something needy. He just wanted… he wanted so badly…

“One month from today?” Aziraphale asked in a soft voice, sounding unsure. 

Crowley nodded. “One month from today,” he confirmed. 

Aziraphale nodded to himself, his brows knitted in determination. “Right. One month.”

It felt as if the moment they were in were ending, and Crowley supposed it was, but he didn’t want it to. He wanted to cling to this moment with both hands, to cling to _Aziraphale_ and not let go, but knew he couldn’t. He was just trying to think of something to say when Aziraphale reached out and touched him. 

It wasn’t much of a touch, just a brush of Aziraphale’s fingers against his, but it sent shock waves ricocheting through his body. It was a touch that could pass for casual to a passerby, though it was anything but, and Crowley knew it. There was longing in that touch. There was promise. But more than anything, there was _hope_. Bright, shining _hope_. 

“Until Monday, then?” Aziraphale said, almost too quiet to hear. 

Crowley swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll see you Monday, angel.”

Aziraphale gave him a smile, a soft, hopeful thing, then touched his hand again, as if he couldn’t help it. Before Crowley could grab his fingers and hold on, which was his instinct, Aziraphale was gone. Crowley watched him go until he blended into the crowd, then smiled to himself. Aziraphale still wanted him. He was sure of it. He’d been worried, but with a single touch, Aziraphale had set his mind at ease. 

It was enough to survive on until Monday.

~*~O~*~

_5 October, 2020_

Aziraphale had gone to Gabriel last Tuesday morning, after Crowley had called and given him the bad news on Monday. He’d hoped that waiting a day would help him formulate a plan that would give him the chance to persuade Gabriel that they didn’t need to do a profile. 

“I already have more applicants than I could ever possibly handle,” he’d explained, hoping that logic would win the day. “What good is drumming up more business?” 

Gabriel had scoffed. “This profile isn’t for _you_ to drum up more business, it’s for the company. You know I’ve wanted to hire a couple more planners - if we have a surge of applicants, I’ll have a perfect excuse to do so. I’ve already been going over resumes. I hope you’re prepared to help me train them!”

And that had been that. Changing Gabriel’s mind had been a slim hope, anyway, but his failure to do so had put Aziraphale in a sour mood for the rest of the day. 

Three weeks and five days. That was how much time was left until the blasted profile was published. In his line of work, when a wedding was three weeks or so away, that was considered crunch time. He knew, cognitively, that three weeks and five days was not a long time to wait. He’d told brides as much countless times. Now, though, when it was _him_ waiting for something wonderful to happen, it felt like an eternity. 

All he could do was try to keep his mind occupied. Work helped keep him busy, and Tracy was a godsend - as always. The longest hours were in the evenings, when he was alone. He didn’t dare call Crowley, although he very much wanted to. That would be too much temptation, he was sure. So he buried himself in books, in television, or in work he’d brought home. Anything to keep his mind from dwelling on Crowley - how gorgeous he was, the golden brown of his eyes, the way his body had felt pressed up against Aziraphale’s, the way his kisses had tasted. Thoughts like that, as pleasurable as they were, would only make this length of time seem longer. So he did his best to refrain. 

He failed a lot. 

Aziraphale followed Crowley through the coffee shop, drink in hand, back over to the same out-of-the-way table they’d sat together at a couple of weeks before. The last time they’d been here, Crowley had surprised him by asking if he could ask for a date after the Device wedding. It was a warm kernel of a happy memory, one that Aziraphale was clinging to in order to get himself through to the first of November. 

Crowley set down his cup of black coffee and pulled off his messenger bag before sitting down. Aziraphale took his seat across from him, waiting silently while Crowley pulled out his notebook. 

“I thought you didn’t like to record in crowded places?” Aziraphale asked when he spotted the little black device. 

“Hrm?” Crowley replied, digging in his bag, presumably for a pen. 

“Last time we were here, you said you didn’t want to use a recorder because it made people around you uncomfortable.”

Crowley had retrieved his pen and was looking at Aziraphale now. A little bit of a flush stained his cheekbones. “Oh. Yeah. That’s true. Mostly.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

The flush on Crowley’s cheeks darkened and he looked sheepish. “Yeah. I… well, I didn’t really _need_ to record my interview with you last time because the whole thing was mostly an excuse.”

“An excuse?”

“Yeah. To talk to you, to get to know you better. I didn’t really _need_ to do an interview with you one-on-one. I could have gotten whatever quotes I needed when I saw you with Anathema. I just… wanted to spend time with you.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever been so flattered in his entire life. A huge smile lit his face. “Really?”

“Yeah, angel. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No, darling. Not pathetic at all. I’m so very glad you did that.”

Crowley ducked his head. “If I hadn’t used it as an excuse, maybe this wouldn’t be happening. It’s probably all my fault.”

Aziraphale considered that for a second, then said, “But if you hadn’t used that as an excuse, would you have ever gotten to know me well enough to want to ask for a date?”

“Angel, I wanted to ask you out that first afternoon I met you, at Jasmine Cottage.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replied, surprised and pleased. His cheeks heated and he admitted, “Well, if it’s any comfort, I was attracted to you from the start, too. Although I did try to convince myself I _wasn’t_.”

Crowley smiled, warm and bright like the summer sun, and Aziraphale smiled in return. In that moment he was glad for the sunglasses, because he had a feeling that had he been able to see Crowley’s warm, brown eyes, he’d have gotten lost in them. There were so many things he wanted to say in that moment, so many confessions on the tip of his tongue that he simply couldn’t let go of yet. Curse Gabriel for making him do this. Curses on Crowley’s editor, too. A pox on both their houses. 

There was a loud clatter nearby that startled both men out of the moment and brought them back to reality. Aziraphale and Crowley both looked away from each other hurriedly, Crowley shuffling his notepad needlessly and Aziraphale taking a nervous sip of his coffee. Another couple of seconds and he might have said entirely too much right out loud. 

Crowley put his hand on the recorder. “Are you ready?”

Aziraphale nodded, his anxiety cresting. “I think so, but I’m a bit nervous.”

Crowley let go of the recorder and reached over to cover Aziraphale’s hand, sending sparks up his arm. “Relax, angel. It’s just me, and we’re just having a conversation about work. Alright?”

He nodded again, swallowing his nerves, wishing Crowley’s hand could stay there forever. “Alright. I’m ready.”

Crowley gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then released and went to the recorder, pressing the red button to start recording. 

“This is Anthony J. Crowley. The date is 5 October, 2020, and I’m here with Aziraphale Fell. Aziraphale, do you consent to having this interview recorded?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said in what he hoped was a clear voice. 

Crowley gave him another quick, reassuring smile, then looked down at his notes. “Now, Aziraphale, you’re known around town as the Angel of Love, in large part because of your incredible success rate with your married couples. Ninety percent of the couples you plan weddings for are still married after ten years. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Tell me about your process for selecting which couples to work with.”

Aziraphale started describing his process, hesitantly at first, gaining confidence as he went. He told about the questionnaire that couples had to fill out, and how Tracy would weed through them to find the best candidates. Then, if they met the criteria he’d set forth, an interview would be conducted so he could get a feel for them. Crowley made notes as he talked, offering the occasional nod or smile. 

He was in the process of telling Crowley what the questions on the preliminary questionnaire were when he felt something brush his foot. He didn’t think much about it until he felt the brush again, more deliberate this time. His words faltered and he looked to Crowley, uncertain. 

Without a word, Crowley lowered his sunglasses down his nose, revealing his honey-brown eyes, which were looking directly into Aziraphale’s. Then came another brush of a socked foot against his ankle. 

Silently, Crowley mouthed, ‘That alright?’

Aziraphale’s heart was thudding excitedly, his eyes wide, but he nodded. Then he raised his own foot and rubbed it against Crowley’s. 

Crowley’s answering smile could have powered the entirety of London, and Aziraphale beamed in response. Crowley winked, still smiling, then slid the glasses up his nose. 

“That’s fascinating,” he said, as if nothing were happening other than this interview, as if the two of them weren’t playing footsie under the table. “Is there a minimum amount of time you require for couples to have been dating? Or engaged?”

Aziraphale answered with a smile, still rubbing his foot against Crowley’s. The contact wasn’t much, but it was _something_. Aziraphale would take it. On an impulse, he slid his shoe off to remove that barrier so he’d be able to feel more. Crowley grinned at him.

“No, there’s no hard and fast limit, although I shy away from couples who have been together less than six months, as a general rule. But rules are meant to be broken, as they say, and I do so from time to time. Just not terribly often.”

“I see,” Crowley said as he wrote some notes down. Aziraphale could feel the other man’s foot caress his calf and had to bite his tongue to prevent a giggle from bubbling out. 

“Perfect,” Crowley declared twenty minutes later, his foot still rubbing Aziraphale’s ankle, stopping the recording. He smiled at Aziraphale. “You did it, angel, and you did beautifully.”

“I did?” Aziraphale replied, pleased. 

“You did. I’m very proud of you.”

Aziraphale smiled, satisfied. If Crowley thought he’d done well, then he was pleased with that. That was all that mattered. 

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, small, absent smiles on each of their faces, feet still touching, until Crowley shook himself and withdrew. Aziraphale missed the contact immediately. “You have no idea how much I hate saying this, angel, but I have to go. I need to be in Westminster in forty-five minutes.” 

Aziraphale swallowed his disappointment. “Of course, I understand, dear. You have a job to do.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather stay with you,” Crowley confessed. 

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I’d prefer you stay with me, too. But we’ll see each other soon, I expect.”

“Not soon enough,” the ginger man muttered. “Next week seems like an eternity away.”

It certainly did. He wished they could talk sooner than their next appointment on next Thursday. That was ten days away. If only…

Aziraphale had a sudden burst of inspiration and spoke before he lost his nerve. 

“Is that thing off?” he asked, pointing to the recorder.

Crowley nodded. “It’s off.” 

“What would happen if we were to happen upon each other accidentally? Just in the course of everyday life?”

One corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “I suppose that would just be fate bringing us together. Nothing anyone could do about that. Although there would still be a line I couldn’t cross.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed at once. “But if I were to casually mention that my work day ends at four on _this_ Thursday, and that I was considering feeding the ducks that day…”

Crowley’s smile grew. “And if I just happened to be strolling through the park Thursday afternoon, around four or four thirty…”

“Yes.”

He shrugged, still smiling. “I guess we’d have to see what happened, if that were the case.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt in his chest. “Yes. I guess we’d have to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coffee shop scene in this chapter might just be my favorite of the whole story. In fact, I know it is. 
> 
> A little over halfway there, guys! Hope you’ll stick with me!


	13. Chapter 13

_8 October, 2020_

The sun was shining brightly on Thursday afternoon when Crowley arrived at St. James Park and started making his way down the path towards the duck pond. He gave nervous, tight-lipped smiles to the people he passed, hoping to appear more casual than he felt. He wasn’t doing anything _wrong_ , really, he reminded himself. Not technically. This was just a minor bending of the rules. No big deal. There was no need for him to be darting his eyes around at everyone, making sure he wasn’t being followed or watched. That was patently ridiculous, he knew. 

His nerves were still a riot, though, writhing under his skin, making his palms sweat in the pockets of his denims. Part of him felt like a junkie, an addict seeking a hit, and he supposed that, in some way, he was. He’d felt fine, wonderful even, after leaving Aziraphale at the coffee shop on Monday. But the next day, he’d had the urge to see him again, to spend time with him. By Wednesday, that craving had been driving him spare, and he’d felt like he was going to jump out of his skin all day today. He couldn’t explain why, not even to himself, but he _needed_ to see Aziraphale, to be around him, to get a top-up of his angel. It was more than a little worrying that he felt this way about a man he’d only been on one date with, but Crowley didn’t bother to give that too much thought. In all honesty, he was a little afraid to examine that too closely. He didn’t want to know what it might mean. Not yet. 

But it was worth it. The risk, the nerves - all completely worth it to see Aziraphale and spend a few stolen moments with him.

He felt something inside himself uncoil when he rounded the corner and spotted a familiar blond head sitting on the bench facing the pond. His mouth stretched into a smile he couldn’t help, and some of the tension in his body drained away - simply from seeing the back of Aziraphale’s head. What on earth was wrong with him, that he was reacting like this? 

It didn’t matter. Aziraphale had come. He was here. Now Crowley would get his fix. 

His steps were lighter as he went to the nearby vendor and bought two bags of duck feed. When he finished and turned to approach the bench, he spotted Aziraphale twisted around in his seat, looking at him and smiling brightly. Crowley fucking _beamed_ in response. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale greeted him when he got near enough. 

“Hello, yourself.” Crowley felt much, much more at ease now, and with every step closer he felt that much better. This was good. This was right. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said with twinkling eyes. 

Aziraphale snickered, then accepted the offered bag of duck feed while Crowley rounded the bench and took a seat. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, and a pulse of electricity skittered up his arm. He nearly sighed with contentment. How was it possible to be so relaxed in Aziraphale’s presence, yet utterly keyed up at the same time? Another thing he was afraid to examine too closely just yet. In the meantime, he’d just chalk it up to the magic of Aziraphale. The angel of love. 

Crowley took his seat on the bench, a bit nearer than could be considered polite, less than a foot away. That foot was the absolute limit of how far he felt he could be from Aziraphale in that moment. Crowley needed proximity. To feel Aziraphale’s warmth. He _needed_ it.

They fed the ducks for a few minutes in companionable silence, Crowley simply basking in his presence and serene quiet. It was exactly what he’d needed. _Aziraphale_ was exactly what he’d needed. 

“Are we safe?” Aziraphale asked after a minute, tossing some bread out. 

Crowley nodded, tossing his own bread. “We’re safe, angel.”

Aziraphale giggled, and the sound made Crowley turn and look at him. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his own lip quirked. 

“We are,” Aziraphale replied, his tone merry. “We’re carrying on as if we’re secret agents or something.”

Crowley laughed lightly, then nudged his shoulder. “Well, every spy worth his salt knows that the best place in London to have clandestine meetings is St. James Park.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Is that so?”

He hummed affirmatively. “Indeed. The ducks here are well-conditioned to being fed by pairs of secret agents - at least one of them usually in a long trench coat.” Aziraphale giggled, encouraging Crowley to go on. “In fact, they have preferences. The Russian cultural attaches’ black bread is particularly sought after by the more discerning duck, while the head of M19’s soggy havis with Marmite is relished by connoisseurs.” 

Aziraphale was laughing in earnest now, the sound like music in Crowley’s ears. His cherubic face shone with joy, and Crowley reveled in the knowledge that _he’d_ been the one to make Aziraphale laugh like that. It had been him, Anthony J. Crowley, that brought this angel that amount of happiness. Unable to contain his own joy, he laughed along with Aziraphale. 

“Really, dear,” Aziraphale said a minute later, between diminishing laughs and with shining eyes. “How you do run on. Where do you come up with stories like that?”

“I’m a writer, remember?”

“Are all writers as clever as you?”

“Nah. Most of us are dreadfully dull. I am too, usually. You just caught me on a good day.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a minute,” Aziraphale protested. “I’d be willing to bet anything that you’re dead clever all the time.”

“I hope you’ll stick around to find out,” Crowley replied, laying his thoughts and emotions bare. 

Aziraphale’s smile was enigmatic - a puzzle Crowley wanted to solve, but it made his heart swell with hope. It spoke volumes without saying a word, and Crowley was sure, in that moment, that he was falling in love. God help him, he was already nearly there.

The blond man turned back to the ducks, still smiling that soft, Mona Lisa smile, and Crowley followed suit. 

“How has your week been?” Aziraphale asked a minute later. 

“Mostly shitty.”

Aziraphale looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“Yeah. But there have been occasional rays of sunshine. Like on Monday, when I had coffee with this gorgeous bloke. That was the best part of my week, until now.”

Aziraphale just smiled. “Gorgeous bloke, hmm?”

“Drop dead gorgeous,” Crowley confirmed. 

The angel’s cheeks pinkened. “It was the highlight of my week, too. Until five minutes ago.”

“Oh?” Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow, fishing. “What happened five minutes ago?”

“I met this handsome reporter and we decided to feed the ducks.”

Crowley’s smile was so big, he felt sure it could be seen from Alpha Centauri. “Lucky bastard,” he said. 

Aziraphale tittered, flushing becomingly, then turned back to the ducks. Crowley studied his profile for a moment, pondering how one person could be so gorgeous, then turned back to the ducks, himself. 

This was good. This was perfect. This was exactly what he’d needed, and now he felt like he’d be able to get through the next week - until he saw Aziraphale again. 

“In all seriousness, how has your week been?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I’ve got three weddings this weekend, so I’ve been quite busy.”

“Friday, Saturday and Sunday?”

“Indeed.”

“Have they been difficult?”

“Not really, just time consuming.” He turned and gave Crowley a sharp look. “Are you asking for your story?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m asking because I like you and I genuinely want to know how your week has been. That’s all.”

Aziraphale’s face softened, and he looked slightly abashed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your motives.” 

“No, you’re fine, angel. Given our circumstances, it’s a totally fair question.”

The angel looked down at the bag of feed in his hands. “We’re probably crossing that line you were talking about, aren’t we?”

“Crossing it, no. Skirting it, yes.” Crowley tossed the remainder of his bag of food out, no longer interested in feeding the ducks (not that it had ever been more than an excuse), triggering a small swarm of them. He gently took the bag from a wide-eyed Aziraphale’s hand and emptied it, too. When he was done, he crumpled both bags into a little ball and lay the garbage on the bench beside him. Silently, he reached over into Aziraphale’s lap and plucked his hand up, pulling it between them and lacing their fingers together. His whole body sang for joy at the contact, and he couldn’t help the smile on his face. He was just too happy.

“Now I’m skirting it a little more,” he said. 

Aziraphale looked down at their joined hands, then up at Crowley, his smile guarded. “Aren’t you worried about getting into trouble?”

“A little bit,” Crowley admitted. “But not worried enough to stop me.”

“You hardly even know me,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “I don’t know you well, and you don’t know me. But everything I’ve learned about you has only made me want to learn more, and I don’t think I can wait three and a half more weeks to find out. So I’ll _keep_ skirting the line, if it means I get to spend time with you and get to know you sooner.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, his eyes downcast, and he looked pensive. Crowley wanted to know what he was thinking, and his impulse as a reporter was to ask questions, but he refrained. Aziraphale looked to be working something out in his own mind, and the best thing Crowley could do was to give him the space to do so. So he sat silently beside Aziraphale, hands joined and thumb stroking softly, waiting him out. 

Finally, Aziraphale spoke, although he didn’t look up at Crowley right away. “I feel like there are two entities inside me, fighting a war. On one hand, this is terrifying to me. I’ve not felt this way in... well, I shouldn’t like to say. It’s been ages. It feels like six thousand years. If I’m being honest - which I do strive to be - I’ve _never_ felt this way. So it’s all new to me, all uncertain, and there’s a part of me - a large part - that finds it frightening, being with you. There is a part of me that wants to look you in the face and say, ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.’ That part of my heart and mind are almost grateful for this article you’re writing. It forces us to go slow, and I wonder if that’s for the best.”

Crowley processed this for a moment, letting it sink in, and trying not to let those words hurt. He’d known that Aziraphale was likely to feel that way, it was only natural and made perfect logical sense. He understood - at least, he tried to. 

But he couldn’t help but ask, hopefully, “What’s the other part of you saying?”

“Sod going slow,” Aziraphale answered, smiling to himself, not looking up. Crowley chuckled. “The other part of me is absolutely maddened by this article and the fact that it slows us down. That part of me wants to rush headlong into this - whatever _this_ is - and not look back. It’s that part that keeps me awake at night, trying to come up with a way to get out of this article so we can be together _now_. That part of me very much wants to take your hand and jump off the metaphorical cliff.”

Crowley smiled softly in response to that. “Well, I can see both sides, but I have to tell you that my instinct is more in line with the second half of yours - the side that’s telling you to take my hand and jump off a cliff. That’s what I want, too. And I’m a safe place to land, I swear I am.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I believe you. But even if I _were_ to give that side of me free rein, there’s still a line we can’t cross,” he said sadly. 

“No,” Crowley agreed. “Not yet.”

They sat in silence, holding each other’s hand and letting the world spin around them. Crowley wasn’t sure what to say. The moment felt heavy, significant, and the space between them was full of things that _could_ be said, but probably shouldn’t be yet. He was still a little afraid of frightening Aziraphale away with the sheer intensity of what he was feeling. Hell, if he were being honest with himself, the intensity frightened him, too. He’d never felt this way about someone so soon in a relationship. Not ever. The way he felt about Aziraphale… he didn’t know how to describe it. Crowley, usually so gifted with words, couldn’t articulate how this man made him feel. He just knew that it was good, the best thing he’d ever experienced, and he wanted more. He wanted it all. And he wanted it now.

He silently cursed Beezle and Aziraphale’s boss for making them go through with this. But maybe that other part of Aziraphale was right. Maybe this was for the best. He didn’t know, but he supposed he was destined to find out. 

Three weeks. They only had to wait a little over three more weeks. Could he do it? Crowley didn’t know in that moment. Part of him felt like he may burn to ash in that time, just from sheer _wanting_. 

Aziraphale sighed beside him. “How is it possible to be sitting here with you, holding your hand in mine, and miss you so much I ache with it? Particularly when I’ve known you for a mere few weeks?”

Crowley let out a little huff of a laugh, squeezing his hand. “I don’t know, but you’re not alone. I feel the same way. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life, sitting here on this bench with you. But on the other hand, I’m desperate for more. For anything you’ll give me.”

Aziraphale turned his guileless blue-grey eyes to Crowley. “Do you believe in ‘at first sight’?”

Crowley smiled at him and stroked his thumb. “I didn’t until six weeks ago.”

Aziraphale looked pleased with that, and Crowley raised their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles. 

“We shouldn’t… we probably shouldn’t see each other like this again,” Aziraphale said, not meeting Crowley’s eye. “Not until the article is published.”

Crowley’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Why not?”

“Because I’m finding myself very close to siding with the part of me that’s screaming ‘sod going slow’ and throwing myself at you. And that could get you into trouble.” 

“It could, but you have no idea how much I want that.”

Aziraphale gave a small, almost wistful smile. “Me, too.”

Crowley thought for a second, weighing the pros and cons of what he wanted to do, then asked, “Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale looked at him, his expression a crowd of emotions. “Should we?”

“Probably not. But can I anyway? Please?”

“I’d like that very much, darling.”

Crowley raised his left hand to touch Aziraphale’s cheek lightly, swearing to himself to keep this short and sweet. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed, his eyelashes making crescents on his cheeks, and Crowley dipped his head forward to press his lips to Aziraphale’s. It felt as if his very soul relaxed at the touch, some part of him that had been caged set free, and if this was what love felt like, Crowley wanted it forever and ever. His determination to keep the kiss chaste wavered when Aziraphale slid his lips against Crowley’s and Crowley debated with himself at light speed. He wanted to deepen it, he wanted to _so badly_ , but he was afraid that if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t be able to. 

Before he could decide, the decision was taken out of his hands when Aziraphale began to pull away slowly. Crowley let him go reluctantly, his entire body still buzzing from the kiss, his eyes opening slowly. He kept his fingertips on his angel’s face, their noses only inches apart, and his eyelids fluttered open to find Aziraphale looking as dazed as he felt. 

“I need to go,” Aziraphale murmured, “before I do something to jeopardize your career.”

He was right, Crowley knew he was right, but he hated it with every fiber of his being. 

Aziraphale kissed him again softly, sweetly, then whispered against his lips, “I’m counting the days, darling.”

Before Crowley could formulate a response, Aziraphale pressed one more kiss to his lips and left, leaving Crowley to sit on the bench alone: dazed, confused, and utterly, completely in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys came THISCLOSE to getting this chapter yesterday by mistake, because I can't keep my days straight anymore. Hope you're all staying safe and socially distant!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At almost 7300 words, this is the longest chapter of this story. I’m still not entirely happy with it, even after tinkering with it for over a month, but I hope you like it anyway.

_12 October, 2020_

Aziraphale shuffled into his bedroom at quarter til nine on Monday night, cup of chamomile tea in one hand and a book tucked under his arm. He didn’t normally go to bed at this early an hour, but tonight felt like a good night to relax and unwind. He was still a bit tired from the marathon weekend, when he’d run three weddings and then he’d worked his usual Monday half day today, too, so retiring early with a good book seemed like just the thing. And besides, today was his birthday. Weren’t you supposed to do exactly what you wanted on your birthday? Of course you were. 

Except going to bed early with a book was not at all what Aziraphale wanted to be doing for his birthday. He’d much prefer to be celebrating with Crowley in some form, either out to dinner or perhaps a play, or even relaxing together at home. He really wouldn’t have cared what they did, as long as they’d been together. He just wanted to share his birthday with Crowley, and it made him sad that he couldn’t. 

It was amazing, when he thought about it, the complete mental turnaround he’d undergone in the last few weeks. Two months ago, he’d been a confirmed bachelor, and was perfectly happy with that fact. He'd believed that he was meant to be alone, and had expected to feel that way for the rest of his life. Then Crowley had come sauntering into his life, all charm and smiles and dark clothes, and he’d been forced to reassess his thoughts and beliefs on the subject of romance as it pertained to himself. It was too soon to tell for certain, of course, but it really seemed as if he'd been entirely wrong. For the first time in his life, it felt as if those things _were_ meant for him, after all. Romance. Relationships. _Love._

He pumped the brakes mentally when that last word flitted through his mind. He liked Crowley. He desired him. He felt happier and more content when he was with Crowley than he did at any other time. He wanted to spend _more_ time with Crowley, to get to know everything there was to know about him. He wanted to touch, to kiss, to caress him, to make him fall apart. He wanted to cuddle, to curl up around him, to spend quiet moments together. He wanted a _real_ relationship with Crowley, and all the trappings that came with it. 

Aziraphale had never felt this way about any man he’d ever dated or been attracted to, he knew that much. But was that love? He had no way of knowing, since he’d never experienced the feeling himself, but he had suspicions based on a lifetime of reading romantic novels and observing happy couples. Aziraphale suspected that he was not yet in love, not fully, but that he was what they call ‘falling’. He’d never understood the terminology before, but now he did. It certainly felt a bit like he were falling. 

But at the same time, it felt as if he were _flying_ , soaring high above the clouds of everyday life. It was all very mixed up and confusing, and he couldn’t make heads or tails how he felt. Maybe this _was_ love. Whatever it was, it was exhilarating and he was enjoying it. He never wanted it to end.

He took a sip of his tea, set it delicately down on the coaster on his bedside table, then removed his dressing gown and crawled into bed. Once he was settled, instead of reaching for the book, he glanced at his mobile, weighing the idea of texting Crowley. He hadn’t seen the other man in five days, since Thursday, and he was practically _itching_ for some form of contact. Surely one little text couldn’t hurt, right? Just one, to say that he was thinking of Crowley and missing him. Or maybe not even that forward. He could be friendly. Cordial. Just one message. It was his birthday, and he wanted to talk to one specific person. What would be the harm? 

But Aziraphale knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t be able to limit himself to one friendly, cordial message. He’d send that message, then Crowley would reply, then he’d send another, and things would get flirty, until before he knew it, he’d passed that invisible line that let Crowley keep his job. No, it was safer if he didn’t text Crowley right now - no matter how badly he wanted to. It was for Crowley’s own good. 

Giving his mobile one last, forlorn look, he picked up the book and opened it, beginning to read, occasionally sipping his tea. He’d been reading for about twenty minutes when the mobile chimed, playing his text alert. Aziraphale closed the book on his finger to mark his place and reached for the phone. His face burst into a radiant smile when he looked at the screen. 

Crowley: _Happy birthday!_

Aziraphale lay the book to the side, no longer caring about it, and tapped out a response. 

Aziraphale: _Thank you, dear._

WIthin ten seconds, there was another message. 

Crowley: _Are you busy?_  
Aziraphale: _Not busy at all, just enjoying a book._  
Crowley: _Can I call?_

Aziraphale thought for just a second. This was playing with fire and he knew it. But, well, Crowley had started it. And the lure of talking to Crowley, of hearing his voice, of feeling close to him even though they were apart, was too much to bear. He couldn’t help himself. 

Succumbing to temptation, he sent back, ‘Absolutely.’

The mobile rang in his hand right away, as if Crowley had just been waiting for the go ahead. It made Aziraphale smile, as did the display of Crowley’s name. He felt a rush of nerves while the mobile rang and smoothed his hair uselessly, then rolled his shoulders, letting out a long breath before he answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Hi there.”

It felt like something inside of Aziraphale unfurled, like a flower in the springtime sun, and he couldn’t help a happy sigh. “Crowley,” he said on an exhale - the happiest word he knew. 

“How are you, angel?”

“Oh, I’m much better now. I’m so glad you called.”

“Well, I couldn’t let your birthday pass without at least speaking to you. I wanted to send you flowers, but…” His voice trailed off. 

“I understand,” Aziraphale assured him. “I’m just thrilled you thought of me.”

“I think of you all the time, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale felt a thrill race all over his body. “You do?”

“Christ, yes. You’re always on my mind, no matter what I’m doing. You’re making it bloody hard to concentrate, you are,” he groused, although there was no heat to it. 

Aziraphale giggled. “Well, I’m sorry to be invading your thoughts so much, but I have to confess, you’ve been doing the same to me.”

Crowley sounded a little surprised. “I have?”

“Oh, yes. I find myself thinking of you at the most inopportune times. Quite inconsiderate of you, really.”

There was a low chuckle that made gooseflesh break out all over Aziraphale’s skin and his cock stir. God, what he wouldn’t give to hear that sound while Crowley were pressing kisses into the skin of his neck. 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first person to accuse me of being inconsiderate. But I’m glad to know I’m not the only one afflicted with these… intrusive thoughts.”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m very much afflicted, as you say.”

“Good,” Crowley said, sounding satisfied. Then he changed gears. “So I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, I was just curled up with a good book.” 

“What are you reading?”

Aziraphale glanced over at the closed book, despite knowing the answer already. “An anthology of Shakespeare’s tragedies.”

“Oh, so you were in the mood to be depressed?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, why else would you be reading tragedies?”

“Hamlet is a classic!” Aziraphale protested, then groaned playfully. “Don’t tell me you don’t like Shakespeare…”

“I like ol’ Billiam just fine. As well as the next guy, I’d expect. I just much prefer the funny ones.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair. Are you opposed to all drama and tragedy, or just those by Shakespeare?”

“I tend to gravitate towards lighthearted entertainment, as a rule. The world itself is full of strife and tragedy, and I’m always in the thick of it, as a reporter. So when I have time to myself, I prefer lighter entertainment. Something I don’t have to think too much about. Something I can just enjoy without worry.” 

“Well, when you put it that way, it makes perfect sense,” Aziraphale said. “My job is mostly full of the best things in life. People’s happiest moments.”

“So you feel the need to unwind with unspeakable tragedies to offset the goodness?” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You despicable man,” he chided, and Crowley chuckled again. He waited a beat, then confessed, “I’m so glad you called. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, angel. I absolutely _needed_ to hear your voice. I didn’t think I could go another minute without it.” 

“Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Crowley agreed. Aziraphale flushed with pleasure, imagining his smile. Goodness, he couldn’t wait to see him again. 

“Less than three weeks,” he said aloud.

“Less than three weeks,” Crowley echoed. “I absolutely can’t wait.”

“I can’t either. But…”

“But what, angel?”

“Should we be talking by phone?”

“There’s no rule against it,” Crowley hedged. 

Aziraphale grinned. “Is this more of that skirting of the line, as you put it?”

Crowley laughed. “Yeah, I suppose it is. But I won’t tell if you won’t. Deal?”

“Deal. Mum’s the word.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Aziraphale fiddled with the edge of the blanket idly. It was funny, he thought. Even the silence was comforting, knowing Crowley was on the other end of it. 

“So I was thinking,” Crowley began. 

“Oh? About what?”

“Well, you and I are in a unique situation.”

“How so?”

“We’re not together, not yet, but we have plans to be together soon. In three weeks.” A note of uncertainty entered his voice. “Right?”

“That’s certainly _my_ plan,” Aziraphale assured him with a smile. “To be with you, starting on the first of November.”

“Excellent,” Crowley said, sounding chuffed. “So I was thinking… having to wait until the first of November sucks. There’s no two ways about that. But maybe we could use it as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity to do what, dear?”

“Most couples, when they get together, go into it a bit blind. They have to figure each other out as they go - figure _themselves_ out. What they like to do together. What they don’t like. They have to form their identity as a couple as they go.” 

Aziraphale thought he might see what Crowley was getting at, but didn’t let on. “Yes? And?”

“And, you and I are in a position where we don’t have to do that. Not to the extent that most other couples do. We can take this time when we _can’t_ be together and talk about what we want it to be like when we _can_ be together.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Crowley, that’s simply brilliant.”

The smile was back in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yes. This is a lovely idea. It will help us to really hit the ground running, so to speak.”

“I’m glad you think so. So I thought maybe we could ask each other questions and get a feel for what the other wants out of this relationship.”

Aziraphale’s mouth curved into a smile. “Are you suggesting we interview each other?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but I suppose I am.”

He chuckled. “Once a reporter, always a reporter.”

Crowley laughed. “I suppose so. Are you interested?”

“I’m very interested, darling. Would you like to start?”

“I suppose I can. So tell me… what’s your idea of the perfect date?”

Aziraphale grinned to himself. He knew exactly what Crowley was asking, but couldn’t help the impulse to tease, to flirt. 

“My perfect date? Well, I suppose he’d be tall, dark, and handsome. A little over six feet with auburn hair and dark glasses…”

Crowley barked a laugh, making Aziraphale smile brighter. “Is that so?” he asked, teasing in return. 

“Yes, I think so. I like it when he dresses like some sort of gothic rock star and walks like his hips aren’t attached to his body. Bonus points if he’s into plants and keeps an exotic pet, like a snake.” 

“Too bad I don’t know anyone who fits that description.”

“You don’t?” Aziraphale asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“Nah. Not anyone who would be worthy of you.”

Aziraphale flushed happily. “I think you’re plenty worthy of me, darling.” 

“I’m not, but I’m going to do my damndest to _be_ worthy of you,” Crowley pledged. 

The silence stretched, warm and comfortable, but didn’t last long. Crowley said, “In seriousness, what’s your idea of a perfect date?”

Aziraphale started to inform him that he’d been perfectly serious in his first answer, but decided not to tease anymore. He thought for a second, then said, “That’s a bit more complicated a question than it appears on the surface. I don’t think I could name any one set of activities or circumstances that would constitute the perfect date. After all, dinner and a movie with a person you don’t like would be no fun at all. Meanwhile, with the _right_ person, a trip to Tesco’s could make for a wonderful evening.” 

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” Crowley complained good-naturedly. 

Aziraphale grinned in response. “I’ve always found that the more I have to work for something, the more satisfying it is when I get it.”

Crowley grumbled. Aziraphale didn’t catch the words, but the tone went _straight_ to his groin. Oh, goodness.

“Alright, how about this: I’ll be more direct. I would very much like to woo you, Aziraphale Fell, to sweep you off your feet. How could I best do that? I’m asking you to tell me your romantic fantasies, so I can do my best to make all of them come true.”

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale breathed. “No one’s ever asked me anything like that before.”

“Good,” replied Crowley. “I want to be different from everyone you’ve dated in the past, in every way.”

“You already are,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes. None of them would have even cared about my romantic fantasies. They would have dismissed all of that as stupid or unimportant.”

“Idiots. They were all fucking idiots.”

Aziraphale felt warmth spreading from the inside out. Crowley getting defensive and protective over him… well, it sparked something inside of him. Something _primal_. His lizard brain very much liked the way Crowley was springing to his defense. 

Apparently, he was quiet too long because Crowley prodded him. “Would you like it if I bought you flowers? Took you to the cinema? Made a home-cooked meal for you?”

Aziraphale was shocked out of his stupor long enough to ask, “You cook?”

The smile was back in Crowley’s voice. “Yeah. I dabble. I’m no Gordon Ramsay, but I do well enough.” 

“You are just a veritable fount of surprises, my dear. And yes, I’d love for you to cook for me sometime.”

“I’ll be happy to. Is that what you would want for a first date?”

“We’ve already had a first date.”

Aziraphale could see him rolling his eyes in consternation in his mind’s eye. “Alright, fine. Our second date. I can’t help but feel as if you’re avoiding the question, though.”

“I don’t think I’m avoiding it, really, I just don’t particularly know how to answer it.” 

“Okay, let’s try it this way. I want you to think about our first date. I mean, our _second_ date. The one we’re going to have after the article is published.”

“Right.”

“What would you prefer? Would you like me to pick you up, or would you rather meet at the venue?”

“Well, you’re so proud of your car, I think I’d like to see it.”

“Alright, good. I can work with that. So I show up at your flat to pick you up. Do you like flowers?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I do.”

“Okay, I’ll bring flowers. Any particular type?”

His mind raced, thinking of the various types of flowers and the meanings each one held. He had no idea if Crowley were familiar with the language of flowers, and didn’t dare ask. 

“Whatever made you think of me,” he finally said. “But you don’t have to bring me flowers at all.”

“I probably won’t for every date, but I should for the really significant dates, don’t you think?”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. Crowley was being so silly - but he loved it. Absolutely loved it.

“Alright. Now, before we get to the date itself, I have a very important question for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“When this is all over and I show up at your flat with flowers to take you on our first _official_ date… can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale felt a flood of happiness. “Would you like to?”

“God, yes, angel. I want to kiss you so badly. It’s killing me to wait.”

“I want to kiss you, too. So I’d say yes to that. You should _definitely_ kiss me as soon as you get here.”

“I can’t fucking wait,” Crowley fairly growled, and again, Aziraphale’s cock twitched in his pyjamas. He closed his eyes and willed it to behave. 

Crowley cleared his throat, seeming to get a hold of himself. “Alright. Now. Where would you like to go for our date? What would you like to do? Anathema told me I should set out to wow you, to wine you and dine you, to take you to the most highly-rated establishments. She said that you appreciated the finer things in life. Is that true?”

“Well, yes, I suspect that’s true of most people. But I really am easy to please, Crowley.” He paused, weighing his next words, then swallowed and said, “May I be honest with you, dear?”

“Please do.”

“You don’t have to woo me. I don’t require wining and dining. I’m already…” He paused and gathered his nerves. “I’m already quite taken with you, as it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t put any effort into winning you over.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You’re really very silly.”

“I’ve been called worse. Now, back to that date… Where would you like to go?”

 _Back to yours, straight to your bedroom_ , Aziraphale thought, making himself flush. He shook himself from the thought as quickly as he could. 

“I feel like I’m dictating to you,” he protested lightly. “Why don’t you just surprise me? I’m sure whatever you pick will be perfect.”

Crowley sighed heavily on the other end of the line, then said, “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. You give me some ideas of places I can take you or things we can do together, and I’ll come up with something based off of that. How about it?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale laughed, “You win. As long as you promise you will take us to do something you’re also interested in.”

“I’m interested in you, angel. In making you happy.”

Aziraphale felt a little thrill race all over him, beneath his skin. “Well, it won’t make me happy for you to be doing something you don’t enjoy… like a Shakespearean tragedy or something. Promise me you’ll only choose things you like, too?”

“Alright, alright, I promise. Now, _tell me_ so I can plan the perfect date.”

“Well, let’s see,” he started. “I do very much enjoy dining out, although I certainly don’t require Michelin-starred establishments.”

“Any types of food you don’t like?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale got the distinct impression that he was making notes. It was so endearing, Aziraphale thought his heart may burst. 

“I can usually find something I like at any restaurant. I’m truly not that picky.”

“Okay,” Crowley said, “So you’re flexible about where to eat. What else do you like to do?”

“I like going to films or plays - I especially like plays. I enjoy going to museums…”

“History or art? Or maybe science?”

“All kinds. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a museum that I didn't find interesting, and I don’t mind going to see the same exhibit more than once. I always find something new to appreciate.”

“Museums. Got it. What else?”

“Well, you already know I enjoy visiting the park and feeding the ducks. I also like strolling through Soho. People watching.”

“I can certainly accommodate that. What about stargazing? Have you ever been stargazing?”

“Not in many years. London is not ideally suited for it.”

“No, it’s not, but I know the director of one of the observatories. I could get us a tour sometime, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that sounds delightful!” Aziraphale exclaimed. 

“I’ll make a call,” Crowley said, a grin in his voice. “Anything else?”

“I’m sure there are other things I like to do, but nothing is coming to mind right now. I’m afraid we may just have to be like those other couples and learn about each other as we go.”

Crowley chortled. “That won’t be so bad. And you’ve given me quite a bit to work with. Several dates worth. I think I can come up with something you’ll enjoy.”

“That _we’ll_ enjoy,” Aziraphale corrected him gently. “And I have the utmost faith in you, dear.”

“Good. I’m glad one of us does. Now, I… um… I was…”

He sounded terribly uncertain and it piqued Aziraphale’s curiosity. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking about the _end_ of our date.”

“Well, I would assume that you’d bring me back to my flat.”

“Of course.”

“And then I’d invite you up for a nightcap.”

Crowley made a sound bereft of vowels, something like ‘ngk’, and Aziraphale smirked. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Fine! I’m fine. You’d just… you’d invite me up?”

“Well, yes. I think so. Unless the date went horribly awry, but I can’t imagine anything like that. We get on so well, inviting you up seems like it would be the next logical step.”

“Yes,” Crowley squeaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. Well. I’d be delighted to come up, if you invited me.”

Aziraphale debated with himself like lightning. He could cut it off here, he probably _should_ cut it off here, but he very, very much wanted to continue. Crowley’s career lay on the line, however, and he thought it was only fair that he offer Crowley an out. 

“Crowley?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Would you like to say that we’ll kiss goodnight on our date and go our separate ways, or would you like to talk about what will almost certainly happen if you come up?”

Crowley groaned in his ear, a plaintive sound full of longing, and Aziraphale could empathize entirely. He opened his mouth to make the decision for Crowley, to call a stop to the whole thing and change the subject - maybe to ring off and masturbate vigorously - but Crowley cut him off before he could speak. 

“I _definitely_ want to talk about what will happen if you invite me up,” he said, his voice raw and earnest. 

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked gently. 

“I’m so fucking sure, angel.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, deciding in that moment to lean into it, to let the conversation go where it wanted. His cock was already half hard and his heart was pounding in his chest with anticipation. “So when we got back to mine, I’d take you by the hand and lead you up the stairs to my flat.”

Crowley said, “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I’d let us in and tell you to have a seat on the couch, while I go get us a bottle of wine and two glasses.”

“What kind of wine do you like?”

“I’ve not yet met a wine I didn’t like,” Aziraphale admitted with a grin. “What do you prefer?”

“White.”

“Then I’ll have a bottle of white chilling. We’ll open it and pour two glasses, then toast.”

“What - what would we toast to?”

“To us, of course,” Aziraphale replied simply, his mouth curled into a mischievous smile. He knew this was affecting Crowley, he could tell by his voice, but he didn’t want to stop. Not for anything. 

“To us,” Crowley echoed. “I like the sound of that.”

“I do, too.”

There was a beat of silence, then Crowley said, “So we’re sitting in your flat, sipping wine… what would we talk about?”

“Well, I’m not sure what we’d talk about, but I know what I’d be thinking about.”

“What’s that?”

“You, and how bloody gorgeous you are. Kissing you until you couldn’t breathe.”

Crowley made that ‘ngk’ sound again, and it made Aziraphale smile. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“ _Don’t you dare_.”

“Very well, I wonder if you’d be willing to let me take your sunglasses off?”

“Angel, you can take anything you want off of me. And yes, I meant that the way it sounded.”

Aziraphale grinned, terribly pleased with that answer, even as his cock hardened further. “I’d reach up and pull off your sunglasses, letting me see your eyes. They’re so lovely.”

“They’re nothing special.”

“On the contrary, dear. They’re yours, therefore they’re very special. And I find them beautiful.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Aziraphale confirmed, then he said, “Crowley?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“I’m about to kiss you in this little fantasy we’re sharing. But I’m afraid that once I start to kiss you, I won’t want to stop. I’ll want more, I’ll want _everything_. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Not on your life. Kiss me.”

Aziraphale grinned. “I’d lay your glasses to the side, then turn back to face you. I’d trace your cheek with my fingertips…”

“For the love of _fuck_ angel, if you don’t kiss me right this instant…”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Then I’d stop your mouth with a kiss.”

“Yes,” Crowley sighed.

“Your mouth feels so good - _tastes_ so good,” Aziraphale practically purred, closing his eyes to fully immerse himself in the fantasy. “Kissing you is so wonderful, my darling.”

“I’d open my mouth to send my tongue out to taste your lips,” Crowley said, his voice like silk.

“Then I’d send my tongue out to meet yours. The next thing I know, we’re kissing like we were born to do it.”

“I _was_ born to kiss you, angel,” Crowley insisted. “Can I touch you? Please?”

“Oh, I wish you would. How do you want to touch me?”

“All over,” Crowley answered in an urgent tone. “I want to touch every inch of you.”

“Tell me about it,” Aziraphale encouraged him. “Tell me what you’d do.”

“What will you _let_ me do?”

“Anything,” he breathed. “You can do anything you want to me.”

Crowley made a little noise that sounded like a cross between a whine and a growl. It made Aziraphale feel incredibly powerful. 

“Crowley, dear?”

“I’m here, I’m here. It’s just… you drive me mad, do you know that?”

“That only seems fair, since you’ve been driving me mad since I laid eyes on you,” Aziraphale answered primly. “Now, tell me what you want to do to me, please.”

Crowley made the noise again, the half whimper, half growl, then said, “I want to take you to your bedroom. I want to undress you slowly, taking my time. I want to tug on your bowtie and watch it unfurl, then kiss your neck while I work on your waistcoat and shirt.” 

Aziraphale’s cock was fully erect now, tenting his pyjama trousers. He wanted to touch himself, he desperately wanted to give himself some much needed friction, but didn’t. He was afraid that he’d come too soon if he did. He wanted this to last as long as possible, so he balled his free hand into a fist to keep from grabbing his prick. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

“Once I got your shirt out of my way, I’d run my hands all over you, kissing your sweet skin. God, you’re so gorgeous, angel. So fucking gorgeous.”

He felt a pang of self-consciousness. Crowley had no idea what he’d look like without his clothes, and it was likely to be a nasty shock when that time came. So he said, “I, um, I feel it only fair to warn you that I’m not exactly an Adonis.”

“You’re what?”

Aziraphale was blushing furiously, his face and ears flaming like anything. “I’m not, well, I’m not what most people would think of as attractive.”

“Do I strike you as being like ‘most people’, Aziraphale?”

“Well, no, but still, I may not be your cup of tea.”

There was a silence on the line that seemed to go on for six thousand years, then Crowley said, with a note of disbelief, “Are you serious right now?”

Aziraphale was on the verge of tears now, and did his best to keep the waver out of his voice. “Yes, quite. I just don’t want you to go into this relationship with some preconceived notion about how I look and be proven wrong when you see me. I don’t want you to be disappointed, is all.”

Crowley didn’t say anything to that for a moment and Aziraphale fretted. Should he have kept his mouth shut? On one hand, by saying something, it seemed as if he’d certainly ruined the moment he and Crowley had been sharing, and that was deeply, deeply regrettable. On the other hand, what if he’d said nothing, then Crowley had been repulsed when he saw him? Oh, Aziraphale didn’t think his heart (or ego) would have been able to stand it, if that had happened. Better to ruin the moment now, when he didn’t have to look at Crowley and see the revulsion or worse, pity, on his face. 

But despite knowing he’d done the right thing, Aziraphale sagged, feeling like a balloon with half the air missing. He’d had a good thing going for a while there, he might have known it was too good to last. 

He was just trying to think of something to say to let Crowley off the hook when Crowley spoke up. 

“Can I say something, angel?”

 _Angel._ That was encouraging. But Aziraphale refused to get his hopes up. “Of course you can.”

“I’d like to be very, very blunt with you. Would that be alright?”

Aziraphale braced for impact. “Of course, dear. Say what you need to say.”

He heard Crowley take a breath, then say, “I have been fantasizing about you nearly nonstop for the last six-and-a-half weeks. I’ve imagined you in every conceivable setting - my flat, your flat, luxurious hotel rooms, blankets on beaches - and I’ve imagined you in every state of dress or undress. I’ve imagined what your body must look like in vivid, vibrant detail. And I’ve wanked over you so goddamn much, my cock is in danger of starting to look like a fucking handlebar grip.”

Aziraphale gave a little gasp, his hand coming to cover his mouth, his eyes widening. “Oh, my.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve imagined you with a pelt of blond hair on your chest, I’ve imagined your skin smooth, with no hair. I’ve imagined you with soft curves and silvery stretch marks. I’ve imagined you naked a thousand times, angel, all kinds of ways, and do you know the conclusion I’ve come to?”

“What - what’s that?”

“I’m attracted to _you_ , Aziraphale. You. Aziraphale Fell, as a person. Now, it’s not as if I don’t care about your body - believe me, I care very deeply about it and can’t fucking _wait_ to worship every inch of it - but that’s not why I’m talking to you. That’s not why I’m risking my career to be with you. And that’s not why I’m sitting here in my lounge at nine thirty on a Monday night with a hardon you could see from space.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were flaming again, but he felt like he could take flight. “It’s not?”

“No. It’s because of _you_ , angel. Only you. You might find this hard to believe, but I am very, _very_ interested in getting you naked and I promise - I fucking _swear_ \- there’s no way in hell I’m going to be disappointed in what I find.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. As declarations went, it was more than a little unusual, and he couldn’t remember anyone ever saying anything even remotely similar to him in his whole life. Why, he couldn’t even think of a time he'd ever read a declaration like that in one of his novels! It was singularly unique and not how Aziraphale would have ever expected to be wooed, but it was also very, very effective. He could have melted into a little puddle right there on the bed. 

“Do you believe me?” Crowley asked gently, his tone a little uncertain now. 

“I - I think so,” Aziraphale said. “You’re certainly very persuasive. But I do think that I’ll have some small kernel of concern until such a time comes.”

“I understand. I’m more than a little concerned about what you'll think when you see me naked, too. But we’ll cross that bridge together, yeah? Hand in hand.”

Aziraphale nodded, even though Crowley couldn’t see him. “Yes. We’ll get through our nerves together.”

“Good,” Crowley said, sounding satisfied. 

Aziraphale bit his lip for a second, searching for the boldness he’d had just a few minutes ago. “Something you said intrigued me, I have to admit.”

“What’s that, angel?”

“You mentioned that you had an erection you could see from space.”

Crowley chuckled, low and dark, setting Aziraphale’s senses on fire. “I did mention something about that, although I have to admit to exaggerating a bit.”

“Oh? Prone to hyperbole, are we?” Aziraphale teased. 

“Well, I am a writer, after all.”

“So you’re saying it’s _not_ so large it can be seen from space?”

Crowley chuckled again. “Not quite that large.” 

“Well thank goodness for that, or you might have split me wide open when you fucked me.”

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale smirked. “Are you alright, darling?”

“I’m fine. Just processing what you said.”

“That’s actually something we should probably discuss, come to think about it. Do you prefer to top or bottom?”

“Jesus, angel…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no. It’s just surreal, a bit. I never expected that question from you.”

“Well, you said we should ask each other questions to get ourselves prepared for a relationship, so we can hit the ground running.”

“I did, didn’t I? Well, to answer your question, I enjoy both. I like to bottom, but I also like to top. Depends on my mood - and the preference of my partner.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale said with relief. “I enjoy fucking very much, but there are times one just wants to _be_ fucked. Don’t you agree?”

“Ngk.”

“So it seems we’ll get on rather well, sexually.”

Crowley’s voice was rough. “It seems so.”

“Are you still hard for me?”

“Harder than fucking iron.”

“Take your cock out for me, please, dear.”

There was a slight shuffling on the line, then Crowley said, “Alright.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s so, so hard. The head is almost purple and there’s a little bead of precome at the tip.”

“Mmm. If I were there, I’d lick it up.”

“ _Jesus_...”

“Would you like that? If I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes, please… put your mouth on me. Your hand on me. Anything, angel, I just need you.”

“I need you, too. Wrap your hand around your cock and pretend it’s me touching you instead.”

Crowley took a couple of deep, ragged breaths in his ear. “I’m doing it.”

“How does it feel?”

“Fucking fabulous. Are you hard?”

Aziraphale looked down at his crotch, to the tent in his pyjama trousers and the small wet patch there. “I’m quite hard for you, my darling.”

“Touch yourself,” Crowley requested. “Pull your cock out and stroke it. For me.”

“Anything you want, dear,” Aziraphale said, hastening to push down his pyjama trousers and free his cock. Once it was free, he wrapped his hand around it and sighed. 

“That good, angel?”

“Feels very good.”

“Tell me what you're thinking about.”

“Sucking you off,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Funny you should say that. Some of my most vivid fantasies have been about sucking _you_ off.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Me on my knees in front of you, you with your hands in my hair, fucking my mouth.”

Aziraphale tightened his hand around his prick. “You’d like that?”

“Fuck, God, yes, I’d love that. I’d love you to take your pleasure from me, to use me to get yourself off.”

“Tell me more about it.”

Crowley’s breathing was getting choppy, his voice unsteady, and Aziraphale wondered how close to the edge he was. 

“I’d like you to grab my hair and hold my head still, then fuck my mouth. Fast or slow, whatever you wanted, whatever brought you the most pleasure. That’s what I want. I’d let you have your way with me. Whatever you wanted, I’d do.”

“I want to bring you pleasure, too.”

“God, just the thought of bringing you off is enough to make me come. You bring me enough pleasure.”

“You’d deny me the chance to suck your cock, my darling?”

Crowley whined, a sound from low in his throat, and Aziraphale sped up the motions of his hand. 

“I’ll tell you what - how about we suck each other?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I can do that.”

“Imagine that we’re both lying on our sides, facing each other. My cock is in front of you and your gorgeous member is in front of my face, too.”

“Yeah…”

“I’d take you into my mouth at once, without hesitation, and start sucking you eagerly. Would you like that?”

“Fuck yes…”

“Would you be sucking me, too?”

“Yes, _yes_ , I’d have my mouth full of your cock, full to overflowing…”

Aziraphale’s strokes sped up. “Your cock tastes so good, my darling. And it fills my mouth so perfectly. I love the way your cockhead nudges the back of my throat.”

“Ah, God, angel…”

“Are you close, dear?”

“So close… gonna come for you…”

Aziraphale stepped up his efforts and fucked his fist with abandon. “Come for me, my darling one. Fuck my mouth until you come right down my throat. I want to taste you, I want to swallow it all…”

“Shit! Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled, then there was a string of sounds that bore no relation to language, simply moans and grunts and sounds of ecstatic pleasure. The knowledge that he’d brought Crowley to this bliss was enough to push him over into his own orgasm, and his entire body stiffened, went rigid with pleasure, as he came in hot spurts all over his hand and belly. Pleasure pulsed through him and whited out his vision, his entire being focused on the feeling of his seed leaving his body, utterly racked with ecstasy. 

Slowly, he became aware that he was breathing heavily, pleasure still zinging through his body, his come cooling on his hand and making his shirt sticky. He opened his eyes to stare, unfocused, at the ceiling. When was the last time he had come so hard? He couldn’t remember, and it was all due to Crow - 

Oh! Crowley!

Aziraphale scrambled to pick up the dropped mobile with his clean hand, bringing it to his ear hurriedly. “Hello? Crowley, are you there?”

“I’m here, angel,” Crowley said, sounding slightly out of breath. “You didn’t lose me.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” He relaxed into bed again. “Was that good for you, dear?”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Are you kidding? That was the best orgasm I’ve had in years.”

“Oh, me too. I’m so glad to hear you say that, darling.” Distractedly, he reached for the tissues beside the bed to clean himself up as best he could. He needed to take his shirt off, but wasn’t willing to put the phone down long enough to do so just yet. It could wait. 

“Was it good for you, angel?”

“Oh, it was otherworldly. But... we shouldn’t have done it.”

Crowley’s tone was sharp. “What the hell do you mean?”

“There’s no way what we just did could be construed as skirting the line. We didn’t even saunter vaguely across the line. We took a _flying leap_ across.”

“Yeah, we did. But we did it together, and I don’t regret a second of it. Do you?”

“No, not at all! I just worry about your job, and I wish we could do it for real.”

“We can, and we will. I’m sick of waiting.”

Aziraphale was suddenly very alert, his muscles tense. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m tired of this, and I’m not going to wait three weeks. I want to be with you _now_.”

“I want to be with you, too, dear, as soon as possible, but what about your job?”

“I’m telling Bee to get bent tomorrow. I’m giving my notes to someone else, and I’m refusing to do the story.”

“But Crowley! Your job!”

“You let me worry about that, angel. Alright? Trust me. I have a plan.”

Aziraphale was a little dubious and more than a little concerned. “Are you sure, darling?”

“I’m absolutely positive. In twenty four hours, we can be together. What do you say to that?”

“Oh, Crowley. I say that’s the best birthday gift I could ever ask for.”

He could almost see Crowley’s grin through the phone. “Then that’s what you’ll get. Me, on a silver platter. If you want me.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Of course I want you. Do you really think you can pull it off?”

“Yes. And I’m ninety percent sure I can get it done in a day. You may have to wait a day or two longer. But I promise you, angel - I _swear_ \- the next time you see me, we’ll be able to be together.”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft. “And I can’t wait.”

“I can’t wait, either. Soon, angel. Very soon.”

“Soon,” Aziraphale echoed. 

“But for now, I need to go so I can set the wheels in motion. Okay?”

“Yes, of course. Go do what you need to do.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Aziraphale. And everything will be different next time I do.”

“Alright.”

“Sleep well, angel.”

“You too, darling. Dream of whatever you like best.”

“Then I’ll dream of you.”

Aziraphale tittered. 

“Goodnight, angel. And happy birthday.”

“Thank you, dear. Goodnight to you.”


	15. Chapter 15

Crowley pressed the red button to disconnect the call and lay his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and letting out a huge breath. “Well, that was a thing,” he muttered, then laughed to himself a little. That was not at all how he’d expected his phone call with Aziraphale to go, but he wasn’t complaining. Not one bit. It seemed that he and Aziraphale had taken a huge step forward in their relationship, and he was elated. Absolutely over the moon. But now he had work to do. 

First things first, he needed to clean himself up. His groin, hand, and shirt were all covered in sticky come. With a little grunt, he pulled his shirt off and used it to clean himself as best he could. He needed a shower, but didn’t really have time for one right now. He had calls to make. One call in particular. 

He wadded up the shirt and tossed it in the general direction of his bedroom, then set to work tucking himself back into his trousers. Freddie raised his head and looked at him accusingly. 

“Don’t you dare judge me. You’d do the same thing, if you had arms.”

Freddie flicked his tongue out, and Crowley took that to be recriminating, so he went on as he buttoned his fly. “Nothing you’ve never seen before, anyway. You’ve been living with me for four years. I’ve had a wank or two in that time.”

The snake just looked at him condescendingly. 

“Whatever,” Crowley said, getting to his feet. “You just stay awake for once in your life. I may need to talk in a bit, if I don’t get an answer right away.”

Two minutes later, Crowley returned to the couch with clean hands and a fresh shirt. He picked up his mobile off the coffee table and looked at it, considering. It was ten at night here, which meant it was two in the afternoon on the west coast of the US. It was bad form to bother someone on their honeymoon, he knew, but he needed help, and she was the only person who _could_ help. She’d pushed so hard to get him and Aziraphale together, she wouldn’t mind a small interruption. Would she?

Crowley paced in front of the couch for a minute, staring at his phone in his hand. Then he nodded to himself and opened up the messenger app. 

Crowley: _hi. I know you’re on your honeymoon, but I need your help. Could you call me @ your earliest convenience? Doesn’t matter what time. Thanks. AJC_

He read over the message twice, then decided he was satisfied with it and hit send. That done, he made sure the ringer was on, tossed the phone onto the couch, and grabbed his rubber ball, bouncing it and pacing. 

“Right. You lot, listen up,” he said, starting the usual circuit around his living room. “Things have changed, and I’m not willing to wait until the first of November. So let’s talk about this. I need to think this out, see all the potential pitfalls. Where should we start?”

The plants didn’t answer, nor did Freddie, but at least they all looked attentive. 

“Okay, let’s talk about the worst case scenarios. There are a lot of ways this could go wrong. First, I could march into Bee’s office tomorrow, tell them I refuse to do the story, and they could fire me. That would be bad. But at least we’d be able to be together then, right? No, I need to not even entertain that notion. I _have_ to stay employed. So that idea is out - at least, without backup.”

He bounced the ball a couple of times, then went on. “They _could_ threaten to fire me, but not do it, and that would mean I’d have to keep myself from Aziraphale for three weeks. If that happens, I will have broken my promise to him. God, I think that would be so much fucking _worse_. I mean, I _think_ he’d understand, but what if he didn’t? What if he decided he couldn’t trust me because I’d deceived him and he called the whole thing off?”

Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest unpleasantly and he had to stop for a minute, to lean against the wall and get his bearings. That… that was too terrible a thought to contemplate. It wouldn’t come to that. It _couldn’t_. No. He’d not let that happen. If Aziraphale accused him of having been deceptive, he’d beg his case. Plead for forgiveness. He’d do whatever he had to, but he’d convince Aziraphale he was trustworthy. He had to. 

“Right,” he said, pushing off the wall, still a little shaky. “I think we just found the _worst_ case scenario.”

His mobile rang on the couch, providing Crowley with just the distraction he needed. He practically dove for it and peered at the screen, smiling when he saw who it was. Anathema.

Crowley swiped the screen with his thumb and brought the phone to his ear. “Anathema!”

“Hi, Crowley! How are you?”

“I’m good,” Crowley said, sticking to small talk for now. “How are you? How’s married life?”

She laughed. “Feels pretty much the same as life before, if I’m being honest. But I’m loving it so far.”

“Good, good,” he replied absently. 

“So what’s up? What can I do for you?”

Crowley started walking his anxiety circuit around his couch without thinking, bouncing the ball, his nerves bubbling close to the surface again “First, let me apologize for interrupting your honeymoon.”

“It’s fine, we’re coming home tomorrow anyway. Our flight leaves LA at stupid o’clock in the morning, so we were having a low key day. You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

“So I ask again, what can I do for you?”

Crowley swallowed. “Well, you already know I asked Aziraphale out, after your wedding.”

“Yes, and he accepted, didn’t he?”

“Yes. We went on one date.”

He could almost see her knitting her brows. “Why only one date?”

“Because the next day, I went to work, and my editor called me into the office. They told me I had to do an article about him. A profile. They hinted that they knew that Aziraphale and I were closer than we should be and told me explicitly to keep my hands to myself until after the article came out.”

“When is the article supposed to come out?”

“The first of November.”

“Ouch. Why so long?”

“I have no idea, but my job was on the line, so I explained the situation to Aziraphale, then he and I did our best to toe that line.”

There was a smirk in Anathema’s voice. “Did you _really_ try to toe the line?”

Crowley flushed in spite of himself. “Well, we tried not to _cross_ the line, anyway.”

Anathema laughed gently. “I can only imagine what that must mean.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you can.”

“One day, you’ll have to tell me. But for now, I take it that something has happened?”

“Yes. We, er, we crossed the line earlier this evening. Pretty significantly.”

“And you’re worried about being fired?”

“Yes. Kind of. More than anything, I just don't think I can wait another three weeks to be with him properly.”

“So what do you want to do? Ideally.”

“Ideally, I’d like to go to Bee in the morning and tell them that I’m not doing the story. I’ll give my notes to someone else or whatever. But I’m afraid that if I go in there and tell my editor that I refuse to do the story, they’ll fire me.”

“So that’s where I come in,” Anathema deduced. “You need job insurance.”

Crowley winced, hearing it put so bluntly, but there was a certain relief in knowing that Anathema was on the same page. “Yes, basically.” He rushed forward before he lost his nerve to do this. “And I’m so sorry to bother you with this. I’m so fucking sorry. I feel low doing this. Almost dirty. But I don’t see another way.”

“There’s no need to feel low or dirty. I’m glad you called, and I’m more than happy to help you.”

“You are?”

“Absolutely. You knew I would be.”

Crowley relaxed a bit. She was willing to help. If he’d been a religious man, he’d have sent up a prayer of thanks. As it was, he just sighed and said, “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. Newt and I are going to dinner with my parents this evening. I’ll talk to my father about it then and have him call your editor.” 

“You really think he’ll help?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. He took a shine to you when he met you at the wedding, and when I tell him the situation, the alignment of your star charts and all of that, he’ll be glad to do his part. He’d never admit it, but he’s a closet romantic.” 

“Thank you,” Crowley said again, sincerely.

“You’re more than welcome.”

“So I should wait until I hear from you?”

“Yes, I think so. Go on about your day, keep a low profile, and I’ll be in touch after I talk to my father.”

Crowley felt three stone lighter. “You’re a lifesaver, Anathema. I owe you one, truly.”

“The only thing you owe me is the opportunity to dance at _your_ wedding.”

Crowley laughed. “Let’s not get _too_ far ahead of ourselves.”

“It’ll happen,” Anathema predicted. “It’s written in the stars that you two are meant to be together.”

 _Christ_ , Crowley wanted to believe that. He’d never badmouth astrology again if she pulled this off. 

“I hope you’re right,” he said. 

“I usually am,” she replied, sounding pleased with herself. “Oh! There is something else you can do for me.”

“Name it. Anything.”

“You and Aziraphale can come to dinner with Newt and I once we’re back in the country and settled a bit, at Jasmine Cottage. Say in a week or ten days or so? We’ll have a little dinner party, and you two can give me all the glorious details about your dates.”

Crowley laughed again. “Well, I’d have to check with Aziraphale before I committed us to a dinner party, but I’m game. I feel fairly certain he’ll be agreeable, too. Not sure how he’ll feel about telling you all about our relationship, though. Not sure how _I_ feel about that bit of it, to be honest.”

“How about you two come to dinner, tell me as much as you’re comfortable with, and then let me gloat about how right I was.”

“I think that’s a deal I can make.”

“Good. It’s a deal then.”

“Absolutely. Anathema, I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me at all. But I’ll be in touch after dinner. Probably…” She trailed off a bit, as if thinking, then came back. “It’ll probably be the wee hours of the morning there when we wrap up with dinner, so I’ll send a text.”

“Okay. I’ll look for that in the morning.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you then.”

“Thanks, Anathema.”

“No problem. Goodnight, Crowley.”

“Goodnight.”

He hung up and stared at the mobile until the screen went black, a big, dopey smile on his face. He considered texting Aziraphale to tell him what had happened, but decided against it. Aziraphale was probably in the bed by now, and besides, he didn’t _really_ have any news to impart. Not anything significant, not yet. So he’d wait.

For now, the best (and only) thing he could do was go to bed and wait for a text to come from Anathema in the middle of the night. So with a lightness in his step he felt he hadn’t had since this article was assigned and a bright smile on his face, he sauntered towards his bedroom.

~*~O~*~

_13 October, 2020_

Crowley didn’t sleep as soundly as he usually did. Visions of being able to be with Aziraphale soon, plus anxiety about the plan he’d set into motion, kept him from resting well. Therefore, he was awake when the text came in from Anathema at 5:32am. 

Anathema: _Talked to dad. All is good. He’s going to call Beezle in a couple of hours, when they’re in the office._

Crowley replied back at once:

Crowley: _thank you. Bless you. Be thinking of what Aziraphale and I can bring to your dinner party_  
Anathema: _lol! I’ll let you know. Promise you’ll tell me how things turn out?_  
Crowley: _I will, I promise_  
Anathema: _Good luck!_  
Crowley: _thanks_

He laid in bed, too excited to go back to sleep. If this worked - and it looked like it was going to - he’d be able to be with Aziraphale in a matter of hours. Fuck, he couldn’t wait. He spent the next hour and a half dozing fitfully and making plans for seeing Aziraphale. He was sure he never stopped smiling, even in his sleep.

When his alarm went off, he got out of bed feeling as refreshed as if he’d had a proper eight hours. He smiled throughout his morning routine, whistling occasionally and speaking pleasantly to Freddie and the plants. Once he’d showered and had coffee in hand, he went to the couch and opened his laptop, pulling up the political wires, doing his best to focus on work. It wasn’t easy, and he had to remind himself forcefully several times to pay attention to what he was reading and to stop bloody smiling. 

He arrived at the office in a better mood than he’d been in since the day after his first date with Aziraphale. Ridiculously, he had the old 80’s song ‘Walking on Sunshine’ playing in his head, and he didn’t fight it. It _did_ feel as if he was walking on sunshine.

Hastur was lingering outside, smoking a cigarette, lounging against the building near the entrance. 

“Arsehole,” he said to Crowley, a distasteful look on his face.

Crowley smiled back, unperturbed. “Fuckstain.” He didn’t slow down to speak to Hastur any longer… if Hastur was out here, it meant the office was empty. He hoped Hastur stayed out here smoking until he coughed up a lung. 

Once he was in his office, in front of his computer, he decided to organize the notes he had on Aziraphale so they’d be ready to hand off to someone else. All of the legwork was done, really, and all that was left was for someone to take his notes and write up the article. It was almost certain to be the easiest job that person ever had. A gift, really. A gift that Crowley was eager to give. 

He’d just finished labeling the audio files and transcripts when the text came from Bee instructing him to come to their office. Crowley took a steadying breath, then got to his feet, locked his computer, and went to face his boss. 

The door was ajar when he got there, and he rapped on it. 

“Yeah?”

Crowley pushed the door open a bit more. “You wanted to see me, boss?”

Beezle looked pissed, their eyes flashing, and Crowley tensed instinctively. “Yeah. I did. Get your arse in here and shut the door.”

He fought down the flare of nerves he felt and did as he was asked, going to his usual seat and sprawling in it - albeit a little less carelessly than usual. He wanted to show respect to Bee, but didn’t want to let on that he was fucking _terrified_. He clenched his hands unconsciously, then released, his whole body feeling as if it was coiled with tension. 

With a calmness he _definitely_ didn’t feel, he asked, “So what’s up?”

“You know _exactly_ what’s up, you utter twat,” Bee spat, glaring at him furiously. “I told you. Did I not tell you to keep your hands to yourself with Fell? Was I not crystal fucking clear?”

Crowley shifted in his seat. “Look…”

“No, _you_ fucking look. You disobeyed a direct goddamn order. All you had to do was keep it in your pants for five fucking weeks. Five weeks! And you couldn’t even do that!”

There was no defense he could make of himself, so he didn’t try. “I know.”

Bee was seething, pacing back and forth behind their desk. “I should fire you. I should. I _want_ to fucking fire you. God, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything in my _life_ as much as I want to fire you. But I _can’t_ , and you know why.”

Crowley remained silent. He didn’t dare say a word. 

“So you’re _keeping_ your job, Crowley. Against my better judgment, you’re keeping your fucking job. But I want you to know this,” they said, leaning over the desk, a threatening finger pointed at Crowley. He instinctively recoiled in his chair. “I’m watching you,” they said. “I’m watching you like a fucking _hawk_. And if you put one toe out of line, _one single toe_ , I’ll throw you out of this building on your arse and no billionaire on the board of directors will be able to stop me. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Crowley said quietly. 

“ _Are we clear, Crowley?_ ”

Crowley nodded. “Yes. Crystal clear.”

Beezle nodded to themself. “Good. We’d damned well better be. And you should thank some fucking deity that you’ve got friends in high places.”

Crowley (wisely) remained silent.

Bee adjusted their jacket, apparently righting themself. “Now. Get me your notes on Fell by the end of business today, then get out of my sight. I don’t want to even _think_ about you for at least a couple of weeks. I may snap your neck.”

Crowley had no doubt that they could do it - or that they would. Bee was tiny, but terrifying. 

They waved dismissively. “Get out of here. I’m tired of looking at you.”

He got to his feet and hustled out of the office, sure that he now knew what it felt like for a condemned man to be issued a pardon. He made his way back to his office, a little shaky but fighting a smile, ignoring Hastur, flopping down in his desk chair. His mind whirred for a moment, then he pulled out his mobile and sent a text. 

Crowley: _Are you busy tonight?_  
Aziraphale: _You managed to get out of the story?_  
Crowley: _I told you I would. So… are you free?_  
Aziraphale: _I’m always free for you. Come to mine when you get off. We’ll do something._  
Crowley: _I’ll be there around half six_  
Aziraphale: _Counting the minutes, darling_  
Crowley: _Me, too._

Crowley spent the rest of the day in a fog, getting very little real work done, his mind full of Aziraphale - and the bright future they now shared.


	16. Chapter 16

Aziraphale puttered around his flat, in a state that was just this side of ‘a tizzy’. Usually, when he found himself in such a situation, he was able to settle himself down with a glass of wine and a book, but there was no respite tonight. He’d been on the verge of being in a state all day, since he’d gotten the text from Crowley this morning. He hadn’t gotten much work done after that, and had finally thrown in the towel and come home an hour early, thinking that being here would make things better. At least at home, he’d be able to relax, he’d thought. But he’d thought wrong and had spent the last two hours neatening and straightening his flat while his mind raced, just for something to do with his hands. 

He checked his watch again: 6:23. Crowley had said around 6:30, and it was getting close. With every second that ticked by, Aziraphale’s mind spun a little more. He had no idea what to expect from this date tonight. They’d talked extensively about a first date the night before - they’d talked about _a lot_ of things, he remembered with a blush - but Aziraphale didn’t know what Crowley had planned. He’d almost asked several times today, but had decided against doing so, telling himself that he’d prefer to be surprised. The real reason, he suspected, was that if he allowed himself to talk to Crowley, he likely wouldn’t be able to _stop_ talking to Crowley, and then _neither_ of them would get any work done. It was fine. He’d be surprised, and that would be lovely. 

In his mind, he planned out various ways he thought the evening could go. He imagined different scenarios, and then tried to plan for what his reaction would be (or should be) for each one. He very much wanted to set the right tone for the evening, but wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. Should he try to play it cool, and not let on how enamored he was with Crowley? It was probably a bit late for that, he decided, but he could tone it down some, to keep from scaring him off. Would Crowley be frightened off? Oh, he didn’t know. But it couldn’t hurt to be a little… cooler in his interactions with Crowley. He didn’t have to wear his heart on his sleeve. It would be better to err on the side of slightly aloof than to make a fool of himself. So he spent the time waiting for Crowley trying to come up with ways he could keep calm. 

Good Lord, he was such a bundle of emotions! He was feeling so many things all at once, he didn’t think he could categorize them all. The two most prevalent feelings, though, were anxiety and pure, unadulterated, radiant _joy_. He was positively over the moon about this new relationship with Crowley - and was a ball of nerves about it, too. He hadn’t been in a relationship in nearly a decade. What if he didn’t remember how? No, no, he was being silly, letting his mind run away with him. Surely it would be like riding a velocipede? He very much hoped so, anyway. 

Aziraphale pulled out his watch and checked the time again - 6:25. It was nearly time. He wondered if perhaps he should text Crowley to --

The buzzer sounded. He rushed over to the intercom, his heart pounding, and pressed the button.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, angel. Can I come up?”

Elation washed over Aziraphale, just at the sound of his voice. “Of course, dear.”

He pressed the buzzer to let Crowley in, then stepped back from the door, casting one more look around his flat, and smoothing his hands down his waistcoat. _Cool,_ he told himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. _Be cool. Better to err on the side of aloof._

Despite the fact he was expecting it, he still jumped when the knock sounded at the door. He took one more deep breath, then stepped over to the door as calmly as he could manage, opening it with his heart in his throat. 

On the other side of the door stood Crowley, one hip cocked and a huge smile on his face. He was even more gorgeous than Aziraphale remembered, standing there clad in his trademark sunglasses and dark clothes. In his hand, he held a large bouquet of brightly colored flowers that Aziraphale barely noticed. His eyes were too busy taking in the sight of Crowley in all his splendor. 

Aziraphale threw his determination to play it cool out of the window and practically launched himself at Crowley, throwing his arms around the other man and holding him close. He felt Crowley’s arms encircle him as well, and relaxed into the embrace. 

“It’s over, angel,” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale squeezed him tighter. “We can be together now. You’ve got me, if you want me.”

“Of course I want you, darling. Of course I do.” He punctuated his words with a series of fervent kisses to the parts of Crowley his mouth could reach: his ear, his hair, his neck. It wasn’t enough, he wanted _more_ , and it seemed Crowley was of the same mind because the next thing he knew, they were locked in a toe-curling kiss. 

Aziraphale lost all sense of time and space as he stood there in his doorway, being kissed into oblivion by the man of his dreams. He clutched Crowley’s shoulders as if he were afraid he were going to fly away, and was thrilled to feel Crowley clutch him just as tightly. Their tongues met and chased each other playfully, and Aziraphale was hard as a rock within seconds. He didn’t have time to feel self-conscious before Crowley subtly, perhaps unconsciously, ground against him. A thrill like a pulse of electricity raced all over him when he felt Crowley’s hard length against his hip. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale was _ravenous_ , but food was the farthest thing from his mind. He wanted Crowley, only Crowley, and he wanted him _now_.

But in his doorway was no place to do what he wanted, his bed would be much better. He broke the kiss long enough to gasp, “Inside,” and tugged a dazed-looking Crowley into his flat. As soon as he got him inside and the door shut behind them, Aziraphale attacked him again, kissing him wildly. He let his hands roam Crowley’s back and sides, feeling all the lean planes and sharp angles beneath his clothes, anxious to get him _out_ of those clothes. He wanted to see, to touch, to taste, to feel - and he wanted it _now_. 

Crowley whimpered and suckled Aziraphale’s bottom lip when Aziraphale broke the kiss, and he would have smiled at the display if he hadn’t been so desperately aroused. He grabbed fistfuls of the front of Crowley’s jacket and made sure to keep their bodies pressed as closely together as possible, their cocks bumping against each other through layers of fabric. Crowley went for Aziraphale’s neck, laying soft, nipping kisses along his skin above his collar, and Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning his head to the side to allow more room.

“Darling?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“What would you think about staying _in_ tonight?”

Crowley gave a high-pitched whine, grinding his hips forward against Aziraphale and burying his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale grinned and leaned back a bit to see him. Crowley also leaned back, and with one gentle hand, Aziraphale reached up and removed Crowley’s sunglasses, setting them aside. There was something raw and wild in Crowley’s eyes that he knew was reflected in his own eyes. Hunger. Lust. Desperation. And something more tender. Something that needed to remain unspoken for now.

The next thing Aziraphale knew, he was being pushed up against a wall, Crowley _devouring_ his mouth. Aziraphale felt Crowley push his thigh between his legs, and wantonly started pressing down onto it, relishing the friction on his cock. Crowley had both hands on Aziraphale’s bum, kneading the flesh, encouraging Aziraphale’s grinding. Aziraphale wanted to get Crowley out of his clothes, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to get Crowley naked at that moment, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Crowley having to let go of him to get them off. So he went to work on the buttons of his shirt instead, figuring that at least he could get to bare skin that way, and when he was done, the shirt and jacket could come off at the same time and Crowley would only have to let go of him once. It was an efficient solution, and Aziraphale was proud to have thought of it. His fingers were artless but enthusiastic, and before long he had Crowley’s chest bared. He broke the kiss then, desperate to see Crowley, taking in the glorious sight. Crowley’s chest was lean, his abdomen muscled, with dark hair scattered across it, heaving with his breaths. A dark trail of hair led from the dent of his navel down into his trousers, and Aziraphale had never wanted to lick something so much in his life. He spread his fingers out wide so he could touch as much of Crowley as possible. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice ragged, capturing Aziraphale’s attention and making him look up. His lips were parted to facilitate his heavy breathing and he looked nearly wrecked. 

“Yes, my darling?”

“I think you should take me to your bedroom, or else I’ll have you right here.”

Aziraphale grinned, sliding one of his hands up Crowley’s body and into his thick hair, pulling him down into a kiss. “You want me that badly?”

Crowley ground his cock against Aziraphale and flexed his fingers in Aziraphale’s bum. “Isn’t it obvious?”

There was a flash of a smirk on Crowley’s expressive face, then he stepped back. “Tell me where.”

“Second door on the left,” Aziraphale responded, nodding his head in the direction of his bedroom. Crowley grabbed his hand and started in that direction, Aziraphale following willingly. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected when Crowley got to his room, but what he _got_ was Crowley pulling off his shirt and jacket, tossing them to the side haphazardly, then pulling Aziraphale back into his arms, kissing him soundly. Aziraphale went gladly, his hands roaming all over Crowley’s bare back, alternately gripping and caressing. He kept their bodies as close as he could for a while until Crowley put a little distance between them. Aziraphale felt his hands come between them and start working at his buttons. 

“Off,” he muttered, hands flying. “Get these _off_. I want to see you.”

Aziraphale began opening his own buttons as fast as he could, cursing the many layers he wore. Crowley’s hands were more hindrance than help but eventually, working together between heated kisses, they discarded his jacket, bow tie, waistcoat, and shirtsleeves, until only his vest remained. He felt a stab of apprehension, now that the moment was upon him, but did his best to tamp it down. Crowley wanted him. It would be fine. 

He swallowed hard and pulled off his vest, baring himself to Crowley. 

At once, Crowley had his long-fingered hands all over him, and his face nuzzling his chest. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Christ. So gorgeous,” he murmured between kisses and licks to Aziraphale’s bare skin. 

“Alright, then?”

Crowley ringed Aziraphale’s nipple with his tongue. “Better than any fantasy. God. I want you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help it, he _needed_ to kiss Crowley again, so he grabbed him by the head and slammed their mouths together, his tongue meeting Crowley’s at once. Crowley’s hands were back on his arse, kneading again, and Aziraphale clutched at him, pulling him as close as it was physically possible to be, relishing the feel of bare skin against bare skin. He slid one hand between them, and both men groaned when he palmed Crowley’s erection. It felt huge in his hand, beneath the denim, and Aziraphale couldn’t _wait_ to get his mouth on it. Or his hand. Something. Now.

He was dimly aware of Crowley leading him over to the bed, and the two of them collapsed onto it together. As soon as they were horizontal, their hands went back to eagerly exploring each other, Aziraphale caressing Crowley’s cock through his jeans while he lay kisses all over his lean chest. Crowley let him explore for a minute until he got impatient and pulled Aziraphale back into a messy kiss. Aziraphale shivered when he felt Crowley’s hand cover his own cock and start massaging, providing friction. 

“I want to touch you,” Crowley fairly growled against Aziraphale’s mouth. “Can I?”

“Only if I can touch you,” Aziraphale replied, his breath choppy. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” Crowley promised. “Anything at all.”

“Can I fuck you?”

“Fuck. Yes, you can fuck me. But only if you let me suck you for a while first.”

Aziraphale grinned, still pumping the denim clad cock. “You and I are a little bit too dressed to do that.”

“I can fix that,” Crowley answered at once, then pulled back far enough to start working on the fly of his denims. Aziraphale attended to his own trousers hurriedly, but his eyes never left Crowley’s hands. Finally, after an eternity, Crowley started shoving at his trousers, and Aziraphale watched hungrily as his cock bobbed free. Oh, it was more beautiful than any member Aziraphale had ever seen, long and hard, curled towards his navel. Aziraphale’s mouth watered and his arse clenched at the sight of it. He wanted to get that cock inside him- and he would, soon. But for tonight, he had other plans. 

He’d apparently stopped working on his own clothes while he stared at Crowley, because the next thing he knew, he had a very naked Crowley kissing him, pressing gently on his chest to roll him onto his back. Aziraphale went obediently, reaching out to grab Crowley’s cock and oh, it _felt_ even better than it looked. He pumped it gently, hoping to get a feel for what Crowley liked, while Crowley propped himself up over Aziraphale. Crowley broke the kiss a moment later and started trailing kisses down his neck, over his collarbones, and across his chest. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Crowley declared between kisses. His hands had opened Aziraphale’s trousers and were now shoving them down- Aziraphale could feel the cool air on his prick. Crowley kept peppering him with kisses, swirling his tongue around his navel, all the while lowering his body and working off Aziraphale’s trousers and pants. Aziraphale was forced to let go of Crowley’s cock, and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He watched, enraptured, as Crowley worked his way down his body, removing his trousers and then his socks. When Aziraphale was finally as naked as Crowley was, Crowley was crouched near his feet. Aziraphale reached for him but Crowley shook his head.

“No, I want to kiss every inch of you, then suck you.”

“Darling,” Aziraphale whimpered, but it fell on deaf ears. Crowley started by pressing kisses to the tops of Aziraphale’s feet, then his ankles, then his calves, working his way up slowly, his hands caressing and touching. 

“In all my life, I’ve never seen anyone or anything as gorgeous as you,” Crowley said, laying a kiss on Aziraphale’s knee, then trailing his lips up to Aziraphale’s thigh. “Nothing has ever come close.”

Aziraphale’s senses were a riot, but he managed a weak protest. “You can’t mean that, dear.”

“I do mean it, angel. With my whole heart.” He lay sucking kisses on the inside of Aziraphale’s thighs, higher and higher, coming ever closer to the cock that was hard and leaking for him. “And I’ll spend every day proving I mean it, if you’ll let me.”

Aziraphale knew those words were significant, he knew they _meant_ something, but his mind was a jumble and he couldn’t have processed what Crowley had said if he’d tried. Crowley had slowed his climb, was lingering on his upper thighs, and Aziraphale was going spare with _want_. His hands clenched and released rhythmically as he tried to keep himself under control.

“Crowley, please, _please_ ,” he begged. 

“Please what?”

“Please suck me. I need you. Please.”

Crowley smiled wickedly, then blessedly, thankfully, wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale’s hips jerked, causing him to thrust into Crowley’s fist, and the other man chuckled. Aziraphale was on the verge of begging again when Crowley nuzzled his bollocks.

“You’re so big, Aziraphale. Your cock is so big and thick and hard. I think you’re going to feel so good fucking me in a few minutes. Is that what you want?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. I want to fuck you.”

Crowley pressed a sweet kiss to his bollocks, pumping his cock lightly. “I want you to. I can’t wait. But first, I want to suck you.”

“Don’t make me come,” Aziraphale pleaded. “I want to come inside you. If that’s okay.”

Crowley licked a long stripe from the base of Aziraphale’s cock to the head, and Aziraphale cried out brokenly.

“That’s perfect, angel. Are you ready?”

Aziraphale nodded eagerly. “I’m so ready. Please, dear.”

Crowley never broke eye contact when he opened his mouth and took Aziraphale’s cock in, making him groan. Crowley himself groaned when he closed his lips around Aziraphale’s shaft, and Aziraphale could feel his tongue swirling around the head.

“Good god,” Aziraphale said, his hands clenched into fists. “The mouth on you…”

Crowley hummed and started bobbing his head, sucking lightly. His free hand played with Aziraphale’s balls, rolling them around gently.

“Your mouth, Crowley...it’s so hot and wet. Do you like doing this? Do you like sucking me?”

Crowley nodded and hummed “mhm,” as enthusiastically as he was able, and the vibrations on his cock were heavenly. Without thinking, Aziraphale reached down and ran the fingers of one hand through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley groaned. Remembering their conversation from the night before, Aziraphale fisted his hand lightly and Crowley groaned again, speeding up the movement of his head. Encouraged, Aziraphale tightened his fist, and Crowley sped up even more, taking him deeper. 

“Ooh, yes. You take my cock so well, in your pretty mouth. I wonder if you’ll take it as well in that gorgeous arse. I can’t wait to find out.”

Crowley was sucking like a man starving, making obscene noises that only served to make Aziraphale even more aroused, and he could feel his cock hitting the back of Crowley’s throat. He could also feel his balls tightening, the hot coil of pressure at the base of his spine signaling that orgasm was getting close. 

“Oh, Crowley, your mouth is simply _heaven_. But I think you should stop now.”

Crowley bobbed a couple more times, then pulled off, fucking Aziraphale with his fist. “You taste so good, angel. Are you sure you won’t let me finish you off this way?”

Aziraphale answered by gently tugging upwards, until Crowley was hovering over him, then pulling him down into a fiery kiss. He wrapped his hand around Crowley’s cock and Crowley kept pumping his and it felt _so good..._

But he broke the kiss and smiled up at Crowley. “One day very soon, I’m going to take you up on that. I’m going to let you suck me again. I’m going to fuck your mouth, the way you want. We‘ll do that as many times as you want. But for now, I want to fuck you properly. May I?”

“Jesus, angel. You have no idea how badly I want you to fuck me.”

Aziraphale kissed him one last time, then gently pushed his shoulder, indicating that Crowley should roll over onto his back. Crowley did so, and Aziraphale followed him. He took advantage of the opportunity to just _look_ at Crowley, to take in this gorgeous specimen of a man that was somehow inexplicably _his_. Aziraphale didn’t understand it, but he didn’t have time to think about it right now. He was on a mission. 

He stretched to reach the top drawer of his bedside table where he’d stored the lubricant he’d bought earlier in the day. Thankfully, he’d had the foresight to open it when he got home so now he didn’t have to fumble with any plastic wrappings. Once he’d retrieved it, he positioned himself between Crowley’s legs, sitting on his heels, taking in the sight before him. Crowley was watching his every move, and Aziraphale smiled down at him, dropping the lube onto the bed for the moment and running his hands all over Crowley. 

“Look at you,” Aziraphale purred. “You’re simply the most lovely thing I’ve ever seen. What am I going to do with you?”

Crowley’s adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “I’m hoping you’re going to fuck my brains out.”

Aziraphale smirked. “Is that what you want?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Please.”

“Then that’s what you shall have.” He bent over and started pressing kisses to Crowley’s chest, working his way downwards, his hand coming to circle Crowley’s weeping prick and give it some attention. He could hear Crowley’s ragged breathing, could feel his muscles jump under his kisses, and wanted _more_. Carefully, he reached for the lubricant, flipping open the cap at the same moment he took Crowley’s cock in his mouth. 

Crowley cried out, a mangled version of “Aziraphale,” and Aziraphale set to work sucking him greedily while he lubed up his fingers. He’d been told by past lovers he had considerable skill at cocksucking, and he did his best work for Crowley now, even as he slid two lubed fingers between the cheeks of his arse. When he found the hole, he started massaging it, encircling it, applying gentle pressure while he sucked. 

“More,” Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale slid one finger inside, earning a groan from Crowley. He fucked him gently on that finger in rhythm with the bobbing of his head, loving the way Crowley writhed and moaned beneath him. 

“More. Give me another,” Crowley croaked, and Aziraphale gently worked a second finger inside him. Crowley’s hand in his hair was tight to the point of painful, but it felt so good, so incredibly wonderful. He opened his throat to take Crowley deeper while he scissored his fingers inside him gently, opening him up. 

“God, angel, I can’t wait to feel you fucking me. More, give me more.”

Aziraphale pulled off his cock long enough to ask, “Are you sure? I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Please, please, God, please overwhelm me. Give me another finger then _fuck me_.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s raised hipbone. “Whatever you want, darling.”

Slowly, gently, he eased a third finger in beside the first two. The primal sound Crowley made went straight to his cock and made him bite his lip to keep from hurrying things along. But he forced himself to take it slow and easy. It seemed Crowley wasn’t wild about the idea of “slow and easy,” because he did his best to fuck himself on Aziraphale’s fingers, seeking more, whining and moaning pitifully. Aziraphale did his best to give him what he wanted, entranced by the way his face was contorted with pleasure, his eyes screwed shut, mouth open. He looked _wrecked_ , and they hadn’t even started properly yet.

“Please, angel,” Crowley sobbed. “Please.”

“Are you ready?” Aziraphale asked, praying the answer would be yes. He didn’t know if he could hold off another minute.

“Yes, yes, I’m so ready, I want your cock, please give it to me,” Crowley babbled. 

“Shh, darling. I’ll take care of you.” Aziraphale raised back onto his knees, coming forward until his thighs hit the back of Crowley’s, his fingers still buried in him. He fumbled for the bottle of lubricant and slicked up his cock, watching his fingers fuck Crowley, then withdrew his fingers, positioning himself at Crowley’s hole. Crowley writhed on the bed in front of him, begging, and Aziraphale pressed forward. A moment later, he felt himself breach the tight ring of muscle and Crowley groaned. 

“Aziraphale, fuck, yes.”

Aziraphale sank deeper, deeper, until he fell forward and propped himself over Crowley. “Oh, my darling. You feel so good.”

He felt Crowley’s arms go around him, fingernails digging into the skin of his back, and shivered. Finally, when he’d pushed as deep as he could into Crowley, he stopped. 

“Are you alright, Crowley?”

Crowley nodded vigorously, his eyes fluttering open to look up at Aziraphale. “Fuck me. Please.”

Aziraphale kissed him, deep and wet, and broke away only when he needed air. “Are you ready?”

The red-haired man groaned. “Quit teasing and _fuck me_.”

Aziraphale withdrew his cock until only the head remained inside, then pushed back in slowly, watching Crowley’s face carefully. Crowley groaned again, closing his eyes and clutching Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale was just about to ask whether he was alright when Crowley gasped, “More. Give me more.” So Aziraphale began to fuck him slowly, gaining speed incrementally, until he’d established a steady rhythm. 

“Oh, Crowley, you feel so good, my darling. You take my cock so well. How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” Crowley panted. “Give me more. Harder. Faster.”

Aziraphale complied, speeding up and gaining force. Their bodies were making a dull, slapping sound now, and Crowley’s moans were almost constant, broken by the force of Aziraphale’s thrusts and punctuated with swear words. Aziraphale felt desperate to taste him, so he lowered himself and started kissing the long, exposed neck. 

“God, angel, your cock feels so good… I’m so full…”

“Your arse is perfection,” Aziraphale replied between sucking kisses to his neck. He had a flicker of concern that he may have marked him, but couldn’t care right then. “I could fuck you for hours,” he said, although it was a blatant lie. In truth, he was getting closer and closer to the precipice. 

“I’d let you. You can fuck me all you want, Aziraphale, for hours and hours. Days. Just _fuck me_. Fuck me harder. Please!”

“As you wish, darling,” Aziraphale said, then complied, fucking Crowley with more force. With every stroke, he found himself sliding closer and closer to orgasm, but was determined not to go over without Crowley. 

“Are you close, my darling?”

“Yes, yes, gonna come, keep fucking me just like that. Yes. Fuck! I’m so close, just keep fucking me. Keep filling my arse…”

Oh, he was about to fill his arse. It was too late now to stop: he was careening over the edge. He fucked Crowley as hard and fast as his body was able, grunting with exertion. 

“Here I come! Here I come! Oh… oh… _shit!_ ” Crowley cried.

Aziraphale barely had time to see the ecstatic look on Crowley’s face before he surrendered to his own orgasm with an inarticulate shout.


	17. Chapter 17

Crowley was panting, ecstasy pulsing through his body and leaving him shuddering. His mind felt somewhere far away from his body, completely disconnected from everything. All he knew in that moment, all he was aware of aside from the roaring delirium of his orgasm, was the feeling of _completion_ that threatened to overwhelm him. 

Slowly, he became aware of other things. Aziraphale still filled him, his cock unmoving now, but no less hard, making him feel fullness in a different way. Crowley opened his eyes blearily to gaze up at Aziraphale, the man he _loved_ , and smiled softly as soon as Aziraphale filled his sight. Aziraphale’s face was frozen, a mask of euphoria, his eyes closed and brow furrowed and mouth slightly open to facilitate his heavy breathing. He was absolutely the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen in his life, and he loved him completely. 

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open and focused immediately on Crowley’s face, his mouth curving into a soft smile. Crowley’s smile grew in return, and he stroked Aziraphale’s back lightly, affectionately. 

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale said, then lowered himself to kiss an eager Crowley. The motion made an aftershock ricochet within him and he gasped into the kiss. He could have kissed Aziraphale like that for hours, their tongues meeting lazily and Crowley’s hands roaming, and they _did_ kiss like that for a long while, until Aziraphale softened enough to slip out of Crowley’s arse. They both whimpered from the loss when he did, and Crowley chased Aziraphale’s lips when the other man pulled away, earning a smile. He had one hand buried in Aziraphale’s hair and considered hauling him back in for more kissing, but instead just stared up at him, entranced. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said reverently. 

Aziraphale gave him a beatific smile, then laid one more brief kiss to his lips. “I think you are. But we’ve made rather a mess of you. Need to clean you up.”

Crowley fought the urge to cling when he felt Aziraphale withdraw from between his legs, moving off of him. He didn’t go far, coming to rest on Crowley’s right side, but rolled away, towards his bedside table. When he returned, he was wielding a handful of tissues and started carefully cleaning Crowley’s spend from his belly and chest. 

“Seems a shame to use a tissue to do this, when my instinct is to clean you with my tongue,” he said conversationally. 

Crowley made a choked noise, his eyes wide, then said, “ _Jesus_ , angel…”

“Too much?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head vehemently. “Not remotely. I just never expected you to… to be like you are,” he finished. He felt lame, but his mind was too fuzzy to make rational thoughts right now.

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “You didn’t think the prim and proper wedding planner would be willing to engage in dirty talk?”

“Honestly, the idea that you might talk like that never crossed my mind. I didn’t think you’d be such a take-charge type.”

“Do you like it?”

“I fucking love it.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Good.” He finished wiping up all but one small drip of come, then, with a devilish smile, bent down to lick up the last drop. Crowley sucked in a breath.

“You’re the wickedest angel I’ve ever even heard of.”

Aziraphale gave a low chuckle, discarding the soiled tissues on the table and turning back to Crowley, reaching for the duvet to cover them. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, hold me.”

“Yes, sir,” Crowley agreed, opening his arms to him. They moved around each other a bit until they were situated: Crowley laying on his back with his arm around Aziraphale, Aziraphale tucked into his side, one leg draped across Crowley’s and his arm laying across Crowley’s torso. His head rested on Crowley’s shoulder, near enough for Crowley to smell the intoxicating scent of his shampoo, and he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. Then he sighed contentedly. The words ‘I love you’ sprung to his lips, but he bit them back. It was the truest thing he knew, but he also knew it was too soon. He could wait. 

Aziraphale relaxed into him with a happy sigh. “I could get used to this.”

“I hope you do, angel. I intend to _see_ that you do.”

The blond turned his face up to Crowley, smiling. “You do?”

“Of course I do. I want to do this as much as humanly possible.”

“This? Now? Or what we just did?”

“Both. What we just did was fantastic - better than - but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?” Aziraphale asked, and although his tone was light, Crowley could hear the underlying seriousness to the question. 

He smiled softly and stretched to give him a soft kiss. “I’m here for this. I’m here because I’m mad about you.”

Aziraphale’s answering smile was radiant. “You are?”

“Absolutely. Arse over teakettle. Mad as a hatter. And all for you.”

Aziraphale gave a satisfied giggle and burrowed down into his side. Crowley stroked his arm idly, and Aziraphale drew little patterns in Crowley’s chest hair with his fingertips. It was exceptionally comfortable - not just physically, but emotionally - and it really shouldn't have been. This was only their first time together. It seemed like there should have been some awkwardness or something. But Crowley was more at ease here, in this moment, with Aziraphale, than he’d ever been with anyone in his entire life. He felt _whole_ , somehow. Like some part of himself he hadn’t even known was missing was suddenly found and slotted into place. Was it too soon to be thinking that way? Objectively, Crowley knew it probably was. But he couldn’t help it. He’d never known or experienced anything as _right_ as the way he felt about Aziraphale. It was entirely new, and he wanted to live in it forever. 

Feeling a swell of emotion, he squeezed Aziraphale a little and kissed his hair again. 

“Are you happy, angel?”

He could feel Aziraphale’s cheek tighten into a smile against the skin of his shoulder. “Oh, yes. Blissfully so.”

“You’re not regretting taking a flying leap with me... are you?” Just like when Aziraphale had asked a vulnerable question a couple of minutes before, Crowley’s tone was light but the question was serious. 

Aziraphale rubbed a soothing circle onto Crowley’s chest. “Not at all. And it’s odd: I feel like I _should_ be afraid of what we’ve just done. I feel like I _should_ be terrified of rushing into this with you. But I’m not. There’s simply no _room_ for me to be upset with myself. I’m too happy. There’s only joy.”

Crowley kissed his hair again - he couldn’t help himself. “Good. I’m glad. All I ever want is for you to be happy - in all things, but especially with your choice of boyfriend.”

Aziraphale looked up sharply. “Is that what we are?”

Crowley’s heart was in his throat all of the sudden. “Well, I… er… I had hoped… Did I read this wrong? Isn’t that what you want?”

“Is that what _you_ want?”

His heart was thudding against his ribs, and he swallowed hard. “I want to be with you. The terminology is just semantics.”

Aziraphale’s face softened into a smile, and he stretched to kiss Crowley gently, making him relax a little. “I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. That’s what I want.”

Crowley relaxed further and smiled in relief. “That’s what I want, too.”

“Then it’s settled?”

“It’s settled in my mind. But I still don’t know what to call you, if you don’t like ‘boyfriend’.” 

“I don’t have anything against that word, it just hasn’t ever been applied to me.”

Crowley raised his head a little to peer at him, eyebrows raised. “Not ever?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not as I recall, no. The men I’ve dated in the past have by and large wanted to keep things very casual.”

“You mean they were idiots.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because only an idiot of immeasurable magnitude could _possibly_ date you and _not_ want to grab hold of you and keep you forever,” Crowley answered, completely candidly. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “No, none of them had quite that reaction to my company. The closest anyone ever got was referring to me as their ‘date’ when introducing me. But most of the time, I was simply introduced as a ‘friend’.”

“Idiots. All of them. Fucking idiots.”

“Well, to be fair, I wasn’t exactly upset that they weren’t labeling anything. I wanted to keep it very casual, too.”

“Is that - is that how you feel about me? That you want to keep it casual and not label things?” Once again, his heart was pounding in his chest, and his mind scrambled. Then he rushed forward, before he lost his nerve. “Because if that’s what you want, we can do that, but I have to be honest, angel. The way I feel about you is not very casual.”

Aziraphale’s smile was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “My feelings for you are very similar.”

Crowley beamed. “Yeah?”

“Indeed. For the first time in my life, I’m not interested in being casual. Not at all. I’m interested in something more the opposite, actually.”

Joy, pure and unfiltered, surged through Crowley. “That’s excellent news, angel. Best fucking news I’ve ever heard. And for the record, you can call me anything you want, whatever makes you happy.”

“Hmm. I think I’d like to try ‘boyfriend’ on for size. See how I like being one, and how I like having one.”

Crowley kissed him sweetly, too full of happiness to contain it. “I hope you’ll love it and want to keep a boyfriend for a long time.”

“I rather think I already love it, and I do intend to keep him for a long time.” Aziraphale kissed him again, then settled back down into his side, rubbing circles on Crowley’s chest again. “You never told me how you managed to get out of the article.”

“I had other, more important things to do. Like get to you and take you on a - _oh shit!_ ” he exclaimed, every muscle tensing.

Aziraphale looked up, alarmed. “What? What is it?”

“I had reservations for us at the Ritz tonight!”

Aziraphale flushed becomingly. “You did?”

“Yeah. Damn. Too late to do anything about it, now. Oh, well.” He pressed an absent kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead and settled back down into the bed. “I’m happier here, anyway. But we really should get those flowers in water at some point.”

“I had entirely forgotten that you’d brought flowers. I was too focused on… other things.”

Crowley chuckled and squeezed him. “Me, too.”

“What did you do with them, anyway? The flowers.”

“No idea. Like you said, I was too focused on other things,” he replied, nuzzling Aziraphale with a wicked grin. 

Aziraphale giggled, squeezing Crowley. “You fiend.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Crowley felt a thrill at those two words, when it occurred to him that he’d like to hear them from Aziraphale under different circumstances. Then he chastised himself harshly. It was _much_ too soon to be wanting that. 

But one day…

Aziraphale seemed oblivious to Crowley’s wayward thoughts. “Do you think we should get up and see to the flowers? Maybe go for dinner?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly, not yet.”

“Then no,” Crowley replied firmly. “Not right now. The flowers and dinner will keep for an hour or so. For now, I’m busy holding my boyfriend, and I’m too happy to move.” 

Aziraphale gave a dreamy sigh. “Me, too, dear. Me, too.”

~*~O~*~

They emerged from the bedroom a little over an hour later, disheveled and happy, their hands linked. Crowley let go long enough to retrieve the bouquet of flowers from where they’d been discarded on the floor of the foyer, presenting them to Aziraphale with a sheepish smile.

“Camellias, tulips, daffodils, calla lilies, and roses,” he explained, his cheeks pinkening. 

The flowers he'd chosen, whether intentional or not, conveyed a clear message of love and adoration. Could that have been on purpose? Aziraphale had no idea, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. He just accepted them graciously and rewarded Crowey with a lingering kiss.

“Thank you, darling. I love them.”

Crowley looked pleased, and Aziraphale felt a thrill. _This is my boyfriend,_ he thought. _This man is mine._ Oh, he could hardly contain himself. 

“I’ll just put these in some water,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. “You make yourself at home and I’ll be right back. We can discuss dinner.”

He made short work of putting the flowers in a vase, his movements quick and efficient, in a hurry to get back to Crowley. Once he had them situated to his satisfaction on the kitchen table, he pulled the bottle of white wine he’d been chilling out of the icebox and grabbed two glasses, then switched off the light and returned to the lounge. 

Crowley was standing there, his back to Aziraphale, looking over the books on one of his shelves. Aziraphale just took a moment to watch him, propping himself against the doorjamb with a happy sigh. He was so lovely, so long and lean, simply the most beautiful creature Aziraphale had ever seen. He was lovely in every sense of the word, and by some miracle he didn’t understand, he was Aziraphale’s. He couldn’t believe his luck. 

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Aziraphale said after a minute, pushing off the doorjamb to step into the room fully. 

Crowley turned around, smiling. “I had no idea a flat this small could hold so many books.”

Aziraphale laughed lightly, coming over to the couch. “That’s the most polite way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘cluttered’.”

“I didn’t say that,” with a little furrow of his brow. “I’d never call your flat cluttered.”

“You don’t have to, my dear, I’m saying it for you. It’s fine. Come sit with me and have some wine.”

Crowley came to join him on the couch, sitting down just a few inches from Aziraphale, and Aziraphale opened the wine. He poured them two glasses, then handed one to Crowley, who accepted with a smile. 

“To us,” Aziraphale said, raising his glass.

“To us,” Crowley echoed, then clinked their glasses together. They each took a sip, eyes locked, and Aziraphale flushed from the heat in Crowley’s gaze. 

Speaking of…

“Is my lighting too much for your eyes? I can fetch your glasses, if you need.”

Crowley glanced around the room. “Nah, I don’t think so. It’s pleasant in here.”

“Oh, good. I do so love your eyes. I’d like to see more of them.”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth curved upwards seductively. “You’re welcome to look at me all you like.”

Aziraphale smiled from behind the rim of his glass. “Thank you, I believe I will,” he replied coquettishly. 

Crowley winked at him, and he giggled like a schoolgirl. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked a moment later. 

The other man shrugged. “I could eat. Are _you_ hungry?”

 _Hungry for you,_ Aziraphale wanted to say, but refrained. Barely. 

“I’m not _famished_ , but I should probably eat. It’s getting late in the evening for dinner. What would you like?”

“We’re staying in, right?”

Aziraphale grinned at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Crowley smiled in return, his eyes twinkling. “Good. Order whatever you’re in the mood for, just order two of them.” 

“You don’t want to give any input?”

“I trust you and your palate. If it’s good enough for you, it’s certainly good enough for me.”

“How does curry sound?” Aziraphale asked, thinking of places that would deliver. 

“Curry sounds fine, angel.”

Aziraphale retrieved his mobile from the coffee table and called in the order to his favorite curry place. While he was on the phone, Crowley lay his arm on the back of the couch and started tracing his fingertips along Aziraphale’s collar, making him break into gooseflesh. Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley gave him a devastating, lopsided smile in return that made his belly flip. 

_This man is my boyfriend_.

When he rang off, Crowley nudged him, then leaned forward to set his wineglass down. “C’mere, angel. Let me hold you.”

Aziraphale was only too happy to comply with that, laying his phone down and snuggling into Crowley’s waiting arms, but he couldn’t help but ask, “You’re not tired of holding me yet?” 

Crowley kissed the crown of his head as he settled in. “I’ll never get tired of holding you, Aziraphale.”

He smiled up at Crowley. “Never?”

“Not ever,” Crowley promised, and Aziraphale melted into a little puddle. 

They sat there for a time, Aziraphale leaning into Crowley’s side, and letting his mind wander. He hadn’t been held like this in years upon years, and didn’t quite know what to do with it. All that he was accustomed to, in relationships past, was some occasional, post-coital snuggling until the afterglow wore off, then he and his partners had gone about their business. There had never been this tenderness, this gentle touching, never in any past relationships. Aziraphale was starting to wonder how he’d ever lived without it. He _craved_ Crowley. His body and mind _yearned_ for more of him, and something inside of him purred with satisfaction when they were together - especially when they were touching, like now. He’d never felt anything like that before, ever in his life. Was that love?

Taken with all the other things Aziraphale was feeling and experiencing for the first time with Crowley, it was getting harder and harder to come up with any answer other than ‘yes’. He was in love, for the first time in his life, and heaven help him, he was _thrilled_.

He giggled to himself, unable to keep the bubbling joy inside. 

“What’s so funny?” Crowley asked, peering at him with his lip curled in amusement. 

“Nothing,” he answered easily, smoothing his hand across Crowley’s chest. “You’re my boyfriend. My bloke. My partner.” _And I’m in love with you._

Crowley kissed him lightly with twinkling eyes. “I’m happy, too.”

 _I’m in love with you,_ Aziraphale thought, the words zinging around inside his brain. _I’m in love with you._

But it was too soon to say so yet: Aziraphale may have been a complete novice to this new world he found himself in, but he did know _that_. He wondered how long he should wait before he revealed his feelings. Honestly, he had no idea. Perhaps he should consult Tracy, or Anathema. 

Changing the direction of his thoughts, he said, “You never told me what happened.”

“Hmm?”

“What occured that made it so you and I can be together now. Is there no longer going to be a story?”

“Oh, that. Yes, there’s still going to be a story, but someone else is going to write it. I don’t know who.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“It’s all down to Anathema, really.”

Aziraphale looked up, surprised. “Anathema?”

“Yes. You see, several weeks ago, when I was interviewing her and she was pressuring me to ask you out, I told her I couldn’t because of my job. I’d be sacked. She assured me that her father was on the board of directors for the paper and if she asked him to, he could make sure I wasn’t fired. So when I rang off with you last night, I called her and explained the situation. She jumped on the chance to help.” 

Aziraphale felt more warmly towards Anathema than he ever had before - and that was saying something, since he’d been exceptionally fond of her already. 

“How incredibly sweet of her,” he remarked. “I must come up with some way to show my deepest gratitude.”

“She’s already come up with a way,” Crowley informed him. “She’s invited us to come to her cottage for dinner sometime in the next couple of weeks, where she can pump us for information about our relationship.”

Aziraphale giggled. “What did you say?”

“I told her that I could probably talk you into dinner, but that we may keep the details of our relationship to ourselves.”

“Quite right.”

“She also made me promise to let her know how things worked out, as soon as I could. I’ll text her in the morning.” 

“Why don’t I text her right now?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “And say what?”

Aziraphale smiled mischievously. “Why don’t we say nothing at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a picture is worth a thousand words. Why don’t we send her a photo of the two of us here, now?”

Crowley was grinning. “You want to take a selfie and send it to Anathema?”

“Why not?”

“I just didn’t figure you to be the type to take selfies, is all.” 

“I’m not, usually. But this is an important moment, and she was instrumental in bringing us together. It would be nice to show her the fruits of her labor.” Plus, then Aziraphale would have photographic evidence that this was _real_ , that this was happening.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s do it. Got your phone?”

Aziraphale reached for his mobile and opened the camera, then he and Crowley posed for several selfies. They ended up sending two - one of them cuddled up together, smiling, and a second of Crowley kissing a beaming Aziraphale’s cheek. Their hair was messy and what clothes you could see in the photo were not perfectly put together, but Aziraphale felt radiating joy when he looked at them. 

“Send that to me, too, angel,” Crowley instructed, and Aziraphale complied with a smile. Crowley pulled out his phone when it buzzed and opened it to the pictures, smiling down at his screen. “God, you’re gorgeous. What you’re doing with me, I’ll never know. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Aziraphale informed him. _This is my boyfriend. I’m in love with him._ “Kiss me,” he requested.

“Yes, sir,” Crowley answered, and did. 

They didn’t stop kissing a minute later when Anathema blew up Aziraphale’s mobile with a series of excited, all-caps texts, and they were still kissing a few minutes after that when the buzzer interrupted them, announcing that the food had arrived. 

_This is my boyfriend. I’m in love with him._

Aziraphale had never been so happy in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over a thousand comments. Holy shit, you guys. Thank you. I’m humbled.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TEN THOUSAND HITS ASKFKSJFHFKSDF

_21 October, 2020_

Crowley bounced up the stairs to Aziraphale’s flat, a huge smile on his face, then rapped on the door cheerfully. A minute later, the door opened, revealing a smiling Aziraphale, and Crowley’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest with pure joy. It didn’t matter how often he saw Aziraphale - and in the last eight days, since they’d _finally_ become a couple, they’d seen each other nearly every day - the sight of his boyfriend smiling at him always made Crowley feel like he was going to explode from happiness. He didn’t entirely understand how it had happened, but he knew that he was the luckiest bastard that had ever lived. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said. 

“Hi,” Crowley answered, then leaned into the doorway and kissed Aziraphale’s smile. He did his best not to put too much into the kiss, knowing very well from experience that if the two of them let themselves go even a little bit while kissing, they’d end up naked. As delightful as that always was, and as sure as he was that they’d end up in bed later tonight, he also knew that they had somewhere to be. So with no small amount of regret, he withdrew before things could get too heated. He smiled, though, when Aziraphale leaned forward, chasing his lips. 

“Ready to go?”

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled. “To bed?” he asked hopefully. 

Crowley laughed and kissed him again. “You know better. We have somewhere to be tonight. But later? Absolutely. I’m counting on it.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I hope you do,” Crowley replied, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Wicked thing. I’ll just be a moment,” he threw over his shoulder as he retreated into the flat, towards his bedroom. “Need to grab my mobile.”

“I’ll just wait here,” Crowley answered, certain that if he followed Aziraphale to the bedroom, they’d be missing the dinner party. 

Aziraphale reappeared, tucking his mobile into his pocket. “Are you ready now?”

“After you, angel,” Crowley said with a bow. Aziraphale tittered, then stepped into the corridor and locked the door behind them. Once his keys were safely deposited in his pocket with the mobile, Crowley couldn’t wait any longer. He reached for Aziraphale’s hand. The other man threaded their fingers with a smile. 

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, lets. I’m quite anxious to see your car,” Aziraphale confessed. 

“Well, you could have seen it days ago, but every time I’ve tried to pick you up and take you on a date, we got… sidetracked.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Are you _sorry_ that we’re so prone to... getting sidetracked?”

“Not one bit.”

“And to be fair, it doesn’t only happen when you pick me up for dates. When I came to your flat, you barely let me in the door before dragging me off to your bedroom.”

“Yes, but we didn’t have any plans to go out that night. You were just swinging by on your way home after a wedding. Why, I was little better than a booty call.”

Aziraphale swatted his arm with his free hand. “Oh, stop. And as I recall, you practically _begged_ me to come by so you could see me in my tuxedo. Your exact words were that you wanted to ‘unwrap me like a gift’. In fact, I can prove it. I have the texts.”

 _God, I love him,_ Crowley thought, but bit the words back. He wasn't sure how long he’d be able to keep doing that.

Instead of saying anything, he just squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and hoped his meaning was clear. 

“Here’s my baby,” he said, gesturing to the Bentley expansively. Crowley watched with barely restrained glee as Aziraphale’s eyes went wide.

“This is your _car_?”

Crowley nodded, proud, and released Aziraphale’s hand when he let go to inspect Crowley’s pride and joy. He crossed his arms and propped himself against the door. “Do you like it?”

“It’s _gorgeous_ ,” he cooed, and Crowley preened. 

“Are you ready to ride in her?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’d love nothing more, my dear.”

Crowley opened the passenger door with a smile and a flourish.

~*~O~*~

In retrospect, Aziraphale should have expected this. Crowley lived a fast life, and Aziraphale knew that. He should have expected Crowley to be fast about _everything_. But he hadn’t been prepared for Crowley to drive like a bat out of hell.

They had barely made it out of Soho before Aziraphale was praying to a God he hadn’t communed with in years, one hand clutching the door handle and the other clenched into a ball on his lap. He kept closing his eyes, thinking that not being able to see may make it better, but that only frightened him _more_.

Aziraphale had heard of the term ‘hell on wheels’ but had never experienced it until that moment. 

“Watch out!” he shouted, covering his eyes in fright. 

“She’s in the road, she knows the risk she’s taking,” Crowley shot back, one corner of his mouth turned up. Then he glanced over at Aziraphale and his smile faded. “Are you alright, Aziraphale?” he asked, reaching his hand out. 

Aziraphale swatted it away and shouted, “Watch the road!”

Crowley looked stung for a moment, but silently, blessedly, slowed the car down. “Is that better?”

The car was still going entirely too fast for Aziraphale’s taste, but he swallowed hard and nodded. “A bit, yes.”

Crowley looked at him warily, then slowed the car down some more. 

They rode on in silence for a few minutes, and Aziraphale did his best to gather himself, taking deep breaths and attempting to release the tension in every muscle. He closed his eyes and concentrated on soothing himself. _If you love someone, you love every part of them,_ he told himself. _The fact that he drives like a maniac is not a dealbreaker. It does not change his other, lovely qualities. Think of all the things you love about him. He’d never hurt you. This is fine. You’re fine._

When he opened his eyes a minute later, they were getting off the M25 and onto a much smaller road, headed for Tadfield. Crowley was still driving at an acceptable speed, and Aziraphale let out a long breath. 

“Are you alright, angel?”

He nodded and gave a brave smile. “I’m fine, darling.”

“I can slow down more…”

“No need. I’m fine.” 

Crowley looked dubious. “Well, if you’re sure…”

Then he reached for Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “In a few minutes, dear. There’s nothing I like better than touching you, but I’d prefer if you used both of your hands to drive just now.”

A flash of hurt crossed Crowley’s features, and he retracted his hand and put it on the wheel, turning back to the road. “If that’s what you want.”

Aziraphale felt a flash of regret at his sullen tone. “Please don’t be cross…”

“I’m not, angel. I just feel stupid. I hate that I scared you so badly. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. And later, when we get out of the car, you can touch me to your heart’s content. Just… not right now.”

“I won’t be able to touch you to my heart’s content at Anathema’s,” Crowley pouted.

Aziraphale gave him a smile. “Maybe not, but when we get back to mine later tonight, you’ll be able to. I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, dear.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Crowley said, echoing Aziraphale’s words from earlier. He still sounded a little petulant, but he was smiling now. 

Aziraphale smiled at him fondly. “I hope you do, darling.”

~*~O~*~

Ninety minutes later, after ebullient greetings with Newt and Anathema and a couple of glasses of wine, they were sitting across from each other at the dining table, while Anathema served them a scrumptious-looking meal. Aziraphale was effusive but sincere with his compliments.

“Oh, this is just _lovely_ , Anathema. I had no idea you could cook this well.”

Anathema laughed, taking her seat. “It’s nothing special, Zira, just a lemon chicken piccata.”

“No, he’s right. It looks delicious,” Crowley chimed in. Aziraphale gave him a warm smile. 

Anathema looked at the three men expectantly, then gestured. “Well? What are you waiting for, ‘God is great, God is good’? Dig in!”

Aziraphale shared a quick grin with Crowley, then did as instructed and took a bite of his chicken. He moaned appreciatively around the morsel in his mouth and closed his eyes to savor it.

“Really, dear,” he said when he swallowed. “You missed your calling. You should have been a chef.”

“Nah,” she deflected. “I have one or two dishes I make fairly well, but on the whole I’m depressingly average.”

Crowley snorted a laugh. “I think a lot of things could be said about you, Anathema, but no one could ever call you ‘depressingly average’ about anything.”

“Hear, hear,” Newt said, raising his glass. Anathema made a sound suspiciously like “bah”, but her eyes twinkled at her husband. 

“So tell us all about the honeymoon!” Aziraphale prompted. “You went to Hawaii, if I recall correctly?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Had you ever been before?”

“I had, but not in many years,” Anathema said. 

“I’d never been,” Newt volunteered. 

“What did you do?”

The newlyweds launched into a recounting of their Hawaiian adventure, chiming in on each other’s stories and playfully correcting each other. They were describing their trip to a pineapple farm when Aziraphale felt Crowley’s foot brush his deliberately. He glanced up to see Crowley across from him, looking enthralled by Anathema and Newt’s story, but under the table, he felt Crowley’s foot caress his ankle again. His mouth curled into a smile. The wicked creature. But he schooled his expression into polite interest and turned to Newt, who was speaking, and used his foot to caress Crowley’s ankle. 

“I had no desire to go snorkeling,” Newt was saying. “But Anathema insisted.”

“And you’re glad I did, now,” Anathema rejoined, smiling. 

“It was alright. Although I could have done without being almost eaten by a shark.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t a shark, Newt, it was a _dolphin_. And it didn’t almost eat you, it barely grazed you.”

“Looked like a shark to me,” Newt muttered into his wine with the air of a man who had been talked to about this several times, but was still clinging to his truth. 

“That’s because you couldn’t see. If you’d worn your contacts…”

Crowley’s foot caressed Aziraphale’s calf, and Aziraphale felt himself reacting in his trousers. Oh, he couldn’t _wait_ to get Crowley home. 

An idea struck, and he debated the merits of it for just a second, weighing the risk and reward. It didn’t take him long to decide, and with a smirk to himself, he slipped his shoe off under the table and started rubbing Crowley’s calf. 

“What else did you do in Hawaii? Did you visit a volcano?” he asked politely, inching his foot higher and higher, into Crowley lap. 

“We did, actually. It was exhilarating. There’s a lot of raw, primal energy at a volcano. It’s an excellent place to commune with Gaia.” 

“I’m sorry?” Crowley asked, and he sounded _entirely_ too composed for Aziraphale’s liking. He inched his foot higher, towards his goal, steadfastly refusing to look at Crowley’s face just yet.

“Gaia. Mother Earth. Most people tend to think of volcanoes as destructive - and they can be - but really…”

She went on to talk about volcanoes and creation and other things that Aziraphale didn’t care about at the moment. His focus was on two things: maintaining a straight face and driving Crowley mad. 

By the feel of Crowley’s hardening cock under his toes, it seemed he was succeeding on at least one front. 

He stole a glance at Crowley and nearly giggled. Crowley was still giving the appearance of listening to Anathema, but his jaw was set and there was a stain of pink across his cheeks. Aziraphale took a long sip of his wine and caressed Crowley’s cock with his foot, feeling wicked - and loving every second of it. 

“That’s… ahem…” Crowley started, then cleared his throat when his voice squeaked. Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “That’s fascinating,” Crowley went on. “I’ve never looked at it quite from that perspective.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed, even though he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to. “And then you flew to LA for a few days, is that right?”

“Yes, we visited with Anathema’s family for a couple of days.”

“Plus, I needed to talk to my American publisher. So we mixed business with pleasure.”

She kept talking, but Aziraphale didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Crowley’s cock was rock-hard now, under his toes, and Aziraphale was hard, himself. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to teleport himself and Crowley back to his bedroom. Aziraphale wanted to be fucked tonight - and soon. As soon as possible. Now would be nice. But, he told himself, this teasing was good. It built anticipation, which made the eventual reward so much sweeter. 

Still, Aziraphale wasn’t always a patient man, and the end of the evening couldn’t come soon enough.

He was stroking Crowley’s erection at a steady pace under the table when Crowley cleared his throat loudly, making Aziraphale look over at him. Crowley was giving him a _look_ , and even with his glasses on, Aziraphale could read the meaning. If that look hadn’t been clear enough, Crowley’s hand came down to still Aziraphale’s foot.

_Behave _, Crowley was saying.__

__Aziraphale just smiled, coy, and finished his wine. But he did withdraw his foot to go back to rubbing Crowley’s ankle. He could keep it PG._ _

__“LA sounds simply lovely,” he gushed. “I really should visit sometime. What sights are a must-see?”_ _

____

~*~O~*~

Anathema insisted that she and Newt could do the washing up after dinner, refusing any and all offers of help from Crowley and Aziraphale. She was adamant that they were guests, and they should retire to the lounge, that she and Newt would be joining them soon. It was Crowley who finally acquiesced and took Aziraphale’s hand, leading him to the lounge. Aziraphale went with him, albeit a bit reluctantly, still grumbling that he should be allowed to help clean up dinner.

Those protests died when they arrived in the lounge, out of sight, and Crowley abruptly pushed Aziraphale up against the wall and kissed the breath out of him. When the kiss broke a minute later, Aziraphale grinned at him, dazedly. 

“Worked up, dear?”

“You are a filthy, filthy tease, Aziraphale Fell,” Crowley growled, his body flush against Aziraphale’s, so Aziraphale could feel his arousal. “You’re hardly an angel at all.”

“I’m not the one pushing me up against walls, kissing me senseless. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, either. It seems to be becoming a habit,” he teased. 

“Are you opposed?” Crowley asked, laying kisses along Aziraphale’s collar. 

“Oh, no. Not at all. I very much can’t wait to get my hands on you. Or for you to get your hands on me.”

Crowley nipped his neck just hard enough for Aziraphale to suck in a breath. “Just you wait, angel,” he promised. “Just you wait until I get you home. But for now…” He raised his head and captured Aziraphale’s mouth again, kissing him deeply. Aziraphale melted into the kiss, letting himself sag against Crowley’s strength, until they heard a cleared throat from the doorway and jumped apart, eyes wide. Aziraphale missed him at once. 

“Hello, lovebirds,” Anathema said cheerfully. “What would you two like to drink? Tea? Wine?”

“Oh, I’ll have wine, please,” Aziraphale said, trying to act as if nothing had happened. 

Crowley cleared his throat and jammed his hands into his pockets, probably to hide his erection. “I, um, I’ll have tea. Got to drive my angel home in a bit.”

Anathema gave a wicked smile. “Yes, I can see you’re very eager to get home. But surely you have time enough for tea. Is loose alright? I’d love to read your leaves.”

Aziraphale bit back a laugh, but Crowley didn’t miss a beat. “Loose tea is fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Back in a sec! As you were,” she said, then winked at the two of them before flouncing off. 

Aziraphale let go of a long breath and Crowley sighed. “I should have expected that,” the flustered, red-haired man said.

“What, that she would want to read your leaves?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, you should have. But she’s been remarkably tame this evening. She’s hardly asked a single question about us.”

“I suspect she’s about to make up for lost time,” Crowley predicted. “Shall we sit?”

“I’d prefer to go back to what we were doing.”

Crowley grinned mischievously. “Later, angel. I promise.”

“Good.”

The two men went to the armchairs to sit, the same chairs they’d sat in the day they met not quite two months ago, and Aziraphale was warm with the memory of it. He didn’t get a chance to comment - or to reach for Crowley’s hand - before Anathema and Newt appeared, carrying wine, tea, and a tray full of petit fours. Anathema poured tea for Newt and Crowley, and Newt opened the bottle of wine for Anathema and Aziraphale. Once everyone had their beverage of choice and had a little plate with a couple of tiny cakes on them, they settled in to chat. 

“So!” Anathema chirped. “Back to the scene of the crime.”

Crowley looked confused. “The scene of the crime?”

“She means where you two met,” Newt explained. “She’s been anxiously awaiting getting you back together in this room so she could see the difference in your auras now that you’re a couple.”

Aziraphale was amused - and curious. “Is there a marked difference in our auras?”

“Oh, yes. You’re both practically _radiating_ happiness and love.”

He flushed bright red, ducking his head, refusing to look at Crowley. _He_ knew he was in love with Crowley, but he wasn’t prepared to tell anyone else that. Was it so obvious?

“Tell me about you two,” Anathema instructed. 

Aziraphale exchanged a look with Crowley now, and Crowley winked as if to say ‘I told you so’. 

“What would you like to know?” Aziraphale hedged.

“ _Everything_.”

Newt sighed. “We talked about this, love. Just because you played matchmaker doesn’t mean you get to know everything. You’re not God.”

Anathema put her tongue out at Newt and Aziraphale stifled a laugh. 

“It’s quite alright, dear. I don’t think either of us mind talking about the happiness we’ve found.”

“That you led us to,” Crowley clarified. “And no, we don’t mind talking about it… within reason.”

“Yes, within reason,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Okay, tell me about your first date. Where did you go? What did you do?”

“I’d intended to follow your advice and take him to the Ritz,” Crowley started. 

“You asked for advice about me?” Aziraphale asked, smiling.

Crowley looked at him, nonplussed by the question. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I? I wanted to sweep you off your feet, angel. I thought I had mentioned that.”

Perhaps he had mentioned it, but Aziraphale couldn’t remember off the top of his head. He was a bit fuzzy from the wine, anyway. Still, the knowledge made him happy. The idea of Crowley so wanting to make a good impression that he had asked advice made Aziraphale love him all the more. 

Crowley went on. “My plan was to wait until the Monday after your wedding to call and ask for a date, figuring Aziraphale would be busy on Sunday, but he mentioned that he was free on Sunday when we spoke at the wedding, so I called then, instead, and asked to see him.”

“I had loose plans to have lunch at the cafe near my flat and go to the park, so I invited him along,” Aziraphale said. 

“We met at the cafe and ate, then we went to the park for a stroll.”

“It was an absolutely gorgeous day,” Aziraphale recalled with a smile. “We fed the ducks and talked for ages. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him. Then he held my hand all the way back to my flat and kissed me goodnight.” Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, lovestruck, remembering that night and their first kiss. 

Crowley was smiling at him, looking just as lovestruck. “It was all perfect,” he said, then turned back to their guests. “Then I went into work the next day and it all went to shit.”

“You said your editor told you you had to do an article on him.”

“Right. And they told me explicitly not to cross the line with him until the article was published.”

“I take it that didn’t happen,” Newt deduced.

“Well, we _tried_ to behave ourselves,” Aziraphale protested lightly. “But he’s so terribly tempting.”

Crowley scoffed, and Anathema grinned wickedly. 

“What happened that made you call me?”

Aziraphale exchanged another glance with Crowley, and both of their cheeks heated. 

“I see,” Anathema said, sounding smug.

“No, not that. Not... exactly,” Aziraphale hastened to explain, his face flaming like anything. “We just… had a conversation that made both of us realize that we didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“Well, I’m so glad you didn’t have to.”

“And we owe it all to you,” Aziraphale said, turning his warm gaze to Anathema. “It just occurred to me that I haven’t thanked you for all you’ve done. You’ve given me the greatest gift I’ve ever received, the best thing in my life, and I don’t know if I can ever find the words…”

Anathema waved him off. “There are no thanks necessary. I did what anyone in my position would have done. The universe was practically _screaming_ at me to help get you two together. The stars were _very_ clear.”

“Well, whatever your motivations, we’re grateful,” Crowley said, reaching to take Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Deeply grateful,” Aziraphale agreed, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “I’ve never been so happy.”

“You’re welcome. That’s all I wanted. Now!” she said, clapping her hands once, indicating a change in subject. “Zira, what do you say you and I get a little tipsy while our men drink their tea? Then I’ll read your leaves, Crowley, and you two can go home and play footsie under your _own_ table.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed hot and he felt Crowley’s hand go clammy in his, but he managed to get out, “That sounds lovely, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There seems to be a lot of concern about the chapter count... please don’t let that freak you out. There is a climax coming, yes, ~~and if you’re familiar with the movie you can probably guess what it is~~ , but I promise, I _swear_ it’s not that bad. This is an overwhelmingly happy story with minimal angst and I’ve already written the happy ending. So be not afraid!


	19. Chapter 19

Nearly an hour later, Crowley was trying to shuffle Aziraphale out of Jasmine Cottage and towards his car. Aziraphale and Anathema had split a bottle of good wine between them after dinner, and they were both a little tipsy. Which was fun, in a way - Crowley enjoyed seeing Aziraphale so loosey-goosey and relaxed - but he was discovering that Aziraphale was also a randy drunk. That would have been fine at home (and was information he was tucking away for later), but was slightly less fine at someone’s house for a dinner party. He’d been anxious to get Aziraphale back to the flat above the bookshop and make love to him all evening, but the smoldering looks and light, non-casual touches were driving him spare and making him near-desperate to get them out of there. 

He’d finally gotten them to the door and thought he was just about free when Anathema’s eyes widened and she said, “Oh! I almost forgot! Zira, I have something for you, if you could come with me, please.”

Crowley did his best not to groan, but very nearly did as Aziraphale pressed a sweet kiss to his lips in passing. “I’ll be right back, darling,” he promised, then cheerfully followed Anathema out of the foyer and back into the cottage, leaving Crowley with Newt. 

“I’m sorry,” Newt said. “I know she can be a bit much sometimes. But she’s been over the moon about the two of you becoming a couple. I appreciate you humoring her.”

“It’s no problem. I’m over the moon about the two of us being together, too, and I do owe that to her, in large part.”

There was a burst of giggles from inside the house, and Crowley looked towards the sound, fighting a sigh. 

“I’ll go hurry them along, if you want me to,” Newt offered. 

“Nah, let them have their fun. We have nowhere to go but home, and I’m not worried about traffic.”

He chatted lightly with Newt in the foyer for another couple of minutes, until Aziraphale and Anathema reappeared, leaning on each other and giggling. The sight of his angel so happy made him smile. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his lip quirked. 

Aziraphale answered by stepping forward and giving him a lingering, wine-tinged kiss. “Tell you later, my darling,” he promised, smiling against Crowley’s lips. Then he subtly reached between their bodies and caressed Crowley’s prick - which sprang to attention right away. 

“Right,” Crowley said, taking a smirking Aziraphale’s hand firmly. “I believe that’s our cue to leave.” If he didn’t get Aziraphale home _immediately_ , he was concerned he may burst.

“Thank you for having us,” Aziraphale said, turning to face Anathema and Newt with a brilliant smile. “We had a lovely time.”

“We did,” Crowley agreed, inching towards the door. “Very lovely.”

“We should do this again! We can double date!”

“I think a double date sounds _perfect_ , Anathema, you’re so clever,” Aziraphale gushed. “Doesn’t that sound perfect, Crowley?”

“Yep. Perfect,” Crowley agreed in a clipped tone. “But for now, we should let these two get to bed, and I need to get you home.”

Anathema and Aziraphale exchanged a meaningful look, then both burst into giggles. Crowley resisted rolling his eyes with great effort. Instead, he opened the door and silently ushered Aziraphale out of it. 

“Goodbye, Anathema, dear! And Newt! Mustn’t forget Newt! Goodbye, Newt!” Aziraphale called merrily as Crowley led him to the car. 

“Bye, Zira!” Anathema called from the front porch. “Let me know how the you-know-what goes!”

Aziraphale giggled again, and Crowley opened the passenger door to deposit him inside. Aziraphale hesitated for just a moment, still smiling, then leaned in to give Crowley a toe-curling kiss. Crowley allowed it for a moment, until he felt himself hardening again, then he pulled away.

“In you get, angel. We need to get you home. _Now._ ”

Aziraphale gave him another brilliant smile, but got in the car. 

Once Crowley had the door shut, he circled the bonnet to go to the driver’s side, raising his hand in a wave to Newt and Anathema, who were standing on the porch with their arms around each other. “Goodnight,” he called. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

They called something back in return, Crowley didn’t know (or care) what, and he got into the car. Without hesitating, he cranked it and backed out of the driveway. 

“Well, that was fun! Wasn’t that fun?”

Crowley ground his teeth, forcing himself to maintain the speed limit and willing his erection to subside. “Yes. I had a good time. Did you?”

“Oh, I did indeed.”

“Good.” Crowley slid his glasses off his nose and laid them on the dashboard.

“Ooh,” Aziraphale cooed. “The glasses have come off. I _love_ when the glasses come off.”

Crowley smirked. “Like my eyes that much, do you?”

“Oh, yes. Very much. Your eyes are the most stunning shade and I adore getting lost in them... but that’s not why. Not the only reason, anyway.”

Crowley was regaining control over his body slowly, and his burning _need_ to get home was mellowing somewhat. It wasn’t so difficult now to drive the speed limit, and while he was still very eager to get his angel to the flat, he was slightly more relaxed. Good. 

So his voice was easier, less terse, when he asked, “Why then?”

“Because, my darling, I’ve become conditioned, like Pavlov’s dogs. When the glasses come off, we usually make love very soon after.”

Crowley barked a laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I’m very serious. Why, just seeing you take off your glasses is enough to get me quite erect.”

Crowley’s prick was stirring in his trousers again. “You’re _joking_ ,” he persisted, feeling a little desperate. 

Aziraphale simply reached over and took Crowley’s hand, then brought it down to his own groin, placing it over his hard cock. “I’m not joking,” he said. 

Crowley’s cock was harder than iron again. Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand in place over his cock, then reached over and lay _his_ hand on Crowley’s.

“Oh, hello,” he said in a mischievous tone. “It looks as if you’re happy to see me, as well.”

“I’m always happy to see you,” Crowley protested, withdrawing his hand with much regret so he could drive. The urge to speed was increasing again, and he needed to focus. 

Aziraphale scooted a little bit closer, his hand caressing Crowley’s bulge. “Are you, dear?”

“You know I am, Aziraphale. I always fucking want you.”

Aziraphale leaned over, and his breath ghosted along Crowley’s ear. “Always, my darling?”

Crowley shivered. “Yes, always. I want you so badly…”

The hand on Crowley’s cock was stroking rhythmically now, and Crowley bit back a groan. They’d be home in forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes.

Aziraphale kissed the shell of his ear, making gooseflesh break out all over Crowley’s body, then breathed, “Do you know what I want tonight, Crowley?”

He should tell Aziraphale to sit back in his seat before they wrecked. This was dangerous and he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. “Tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to bend me over and take me from behind.”

Crowley’s knuckles were white on the wheel and he shivered again, desire threatening to overtake him. He was in a desperate battle for control over the situation. “Angel…”

“Yes, my darling?”

“We’ll be home in forty-five minutes. I’ll fuck you any way you like when we get there, as many times as my body will let me, I swear. I’ll give you the best fucking of your life. But for now, I have to concentrate.”

“You could pull over and fuck me now.”

Crowley nearly swerved off the road, and he whined. “Angel…”

“What?”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“For several reasons. First, my car is fairly small. It’ll be cramped.”

“I’m very bendy, you know that.” He gently squeezed Crowley’s cock and kissed the hollow behind his ear. “Please, darling, fuck me now…”

Crowley’s heart was pounding double-time and he wanted to give in so badly… Desperately, he gave another excuse. “We don’t have any lube.”

“I have some.”

“You _what_?”

“I have a little packet of lube. Anathema gave it to me before we left. She put it in my hand and said, ‘This is for if you don’t make it home.’ So we’re all set there.”

 _Fuck_ , Crowley was tempted. He wanted to find a secluded spot and take Aziraphale so badly. But he shook his head. “We can’t, angel. We _can’t_. There’s too great a chance we’d get caught.”

“I’m willing to take the risk if you are, darling…”

“Angel, _please_. I need to concentrate.”

“On me?”

“No, on the road!”

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away, but didn’t stop his stroking of Crowley’s cock, either. It was fine. That was fine. He could put that stimulation to the back of his mind and concentrate on the road. As long as Aziraphale didn’t --

“Have you ever heard of ‘road head’?”

Once again, Crowley nearly put the Bentley in a ditch. “ _Jesus fucking Christ, angel_!”

“What?” he asked wickedly, still massaging Crowley’s cock. 

“Forty minutes. I need you to get on your side of the car and keep your hands to yourself for forty blessed minutes. Then, when we get home, I’m going to fuck you absolutely senseless.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I swear to every deity you’ve ever heard of.”

Aziraphale pressed a little kiss to his cheek. “Alright. I can wait.”

He withdrew back to his seat, and Crowley nearly whimpered from the loss when he took his hand away. _This is fine_ , he told himself. _You’ll be home soon. Just maintain speed and heading. Think about something else. Football. Work. Hastur in lingerie._

It barely helped, and Crowley squeezed the steering wheel, clenching his teeth. 

“Crowley?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“We have to pass through Mayfair to get to my flat, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should stop at _your_ flat tonight instead.”

“Excellent.” That would shave a few minutes off their time. “I can do that.”

They were silent a little while longer, and Crowley was just starting to get control of his body by concentrating all of his effort on maintaining the speed limit when Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“I would be alright if you wanted to go a little faster.”

Crowley floored it.

~*O~*~

Aziraphale kept to his side of the car for the rest of the drive, not speaking much, but the air between them positively _pulsed_ with sexual tension. Crowley was achingly hard the whole way home, driving as fast as he dared, in a tearing hurry to get to his flat. He’d never been so eager to get home in his life.

By some miracle, they didn’t wreck, and Crowley navigated the Bentley into its parking space thirty-seven minutes after leaving Anathema’s house. He practically jumped out of the car, going around to meet Aziraphale, shoving him up against the car and kissing him with a desperation that went down to his bones. Aziraphale clung to him, his hands roaming, clutching him tight and kissing him back with a passion that set Crowley’s blood on fire. It took willpower he didn’t know he had to pull away, but they were on a public street. 

“C’mon, angel. Inside. Now.”

Aziraphale giggled but took his offered hand and Crowley fairly dragged him to the door of his building. 

There was another extended snogging session in the lift, and Crowley seriously considered pulling the emergency brake. But he managed to refrain, and in a few seconds, the lift dinged, indicating they’d arrived on the top floor. 

Crowley struggled to unlock the door, his fingers fumbling the keys. Aziraphale was hanging all over him, too, kissing Crowley’s neck and ears, whispering shockingly filthy things in his ear, which didn’t help. It took a few tries, but he finally got the door to his flat open and practically shoved Aziraphale inside. 

At once, he had his mouth plastered to Aziraphale’s, kissing him wildly, guiding him into the flat. He was pulling at his own clothes, trying to get them off, and was gratified when Aziraphale was pulling at his as well. Crowley glanced over into the lounge and, seeing Freddie nowhere in sight, made a split-second decision. He herded Aziraphale towards the couch, and the kiss didn’t break until the back of Aziraphale’s legs hit the couch and he sat abruptly. Crowley pulled off his jacket, shirt and tie, tossing them somewhere, his eyes blazing down at Aziraphale. His angel was breathing hard, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, revealing his vest. Crowley watched him hungrily as he toed off his shoes and started work on the button and zip of his trousers. 

“You’re a filthy fucking tease, Aziraphale,” he growled, his eyes smoldering with desire. “You’ve been teasing me all night.”

Aziraphale finally finished with his button and pulled the shirt off. “It’s not a tease if you intend to follow through,” he replied with a smirk. The _bastard_.

Crowley finally unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down. “Where’s the lube?”

“In my pocket.”

“Gimme.”

Aziraphale fished the little pack of lubricant out of his pocket, and Crowley accepted it. With little more than a glance, he tossed it onto the coffee table so it would be nearby when he needed it. 

He’d opened his mouth to demand that Aziraphale take his vest off, but before he could get a word out, Aziraphale had grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer. A heartbeat later, the blond man had his hand wrapped around Crowley’s cock, stroking it. 

“You have a gorgeous member. Have I ever mentioned?”

“Jesus, angel, don’t call it a member.”

“Cock. Dick. Prick. Whatever you wish to call it, you have the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

Crowley swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“May I suck it?”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“Oh, I do. I do very much. I want you to put me on my hands and knees and give me a good, hard fucking like I’ve never had before. I want you to fuck me until you’re mindless, and you fill my arse with your spend.”

“Ngk.”

“But for now, just for a moment, I want to suck you. May I?”

“Of course you can. You can always - _oh Jesus Christ!_ ” he ended on a shout when Aziraphale engulfed his cock without warning. 

Crowley had been surprised - and very pleasantly so - to learn that Aziraphale was a champion cocksucker. He seemed to know just what Crowley liked and gave it to him in spades. His tongue was wicked, swirling around the head of Crowley’s cock, and he used just the right amount of suction at just the right time. Maybe it was instinct, but Crowley preferred to think that they were just so perfectly matched with each other. 

He leaned his head back on his shoulders, letting all his awareness focus down on the feeling of Aziraphale’s hot mouth around him. He thrusted lightly, unable to stop himself, but knew from experience that Aziraphale didn’t mind. 

“God, angel. Fuck. Your mouth is so good...”

Aziraphale hummed, vibrating him pleasantly and making him shudder. Crowley let go of a moan, then raised his head to watch Aziraphale pleasure him. 

The angel’s eyes were closed in bliss and his mouth was stretched around Crowley’s prick. His cheeks hollowed with every upstroke and Crowley simply watched him for a moment, entranced. Aziraphale opened his blue eyes and looked up at Crowley, and Crowley could swear he could see his own love reflected back. 

He lay a tender hand on Aziraphale’s cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he said. _And I love you._

Aziraphale didn’t answer, he just sucked harder. Crowley stroked his face gently, loving him completely. After a couple more minutes, Crowley could feel himself getting closer. “God, your mouth is so good. I’m getting close. You need to stop before I come.”

There was no answer right away: Aziraphale sucked him for a couple more strokes, then pulled off - although he didn’t go far. He used his hand on Crowley’s cock to rub the head around his mouth like a lippy, smiling beguilingly. “Did you like that?”

Crowley nodded. “You know I did.”

“Are you going to fuck me now?”

“Take off your vest.”

Aziraphale smiled wickedly but complied, removing his vest and tossing it aside. Crowley stepped out of his jeans, then bent down to kiss Aziraphale, pushing him to lie flat on the couch and covering his body with his. Aziraphale grabbed his bum, squeezing, encouraging Crowley to grind against him. They kissed like that for long moments, bare chests rubbing against each other, until Crowley broke away and started pressing kisses down Aziraphale’s neck, then his chest. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, his hands working on Aziraphale’s belt. “So beautiful.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined, thrusting up into nothing. 

“Hmm?”

“Need you.”

“You’ve got me, angel.”

“Need you to fuck me.”

Corwley finally succeeded in unbuckling the belt and went to work on the button and zip while he suckled Aziraphale’s nipple. “I’m going to,” he said when he released it. “Soon. I promise.”

The button and the zip were more cooperative and in just a second, he had them open. He didn’t waste any time before he put his hand down the front of Aziraphale’s pants and gripped his cock. Aziraphale gasped and gave a little moan as he started to stroke it. 

“Fuck, I love your cock,” Crowley swore, pumping it gently. “It’s just like you: big and thick and fucking _gorgeous_.”

“Crowley…”

“Yes?”

“Please, please…”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes. Please….”

Crowley pressed one last kiss to Aziraphale’s belly, then raised up onto his knees. “Take off your trousers and pants. Get naked for me, then get on your hands and knees. You can lean on the arm of the couch, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale shot to his feet, hastily dropping his trousers and pants while Crowley looked on, his cock in hand. When Aziraphale was rid of the clothes, Crowley seriously considered throwing the whole plan out and sucking him off. His cock was thick and mouthwatering, and Crowley was suddenly desperate for the taste of Aziraphale’s come. But no. Aziraphale had asked for something very specific tonight, and Crowley intended to deliver. 

The angel clambered back onto the couch, his back to Crowley, and leaned over the armrest, presenting his perfect peach of a rump up to Crowley, who eyed it appreciatively as he stroked his cock. Oh, he couldn’t wait to bury himself in that arse. And he would. Soon. But for right now…

He put his hands on Aziraphale’s lower back, smoothing over his arse, feeling the silky slide of his perfect skin. He squeezed the globes of Aziraphale’s bum, using his thumbs to spread his cheeks a little. Unable to resist, Crowley bent over and licked the little pink knot he found there. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, jumping.

“Good, angel?”

Aziraphale had raised up and twisted his body to see Crowley. His eyes were wide and he looked stunned. “What are you doing?”

Crowley was confused. “I was _going_ to eat you out. Do you not like this?”

“You _want_ to lick me there?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “No one has ever done this for you?”

“Never! I’ve read about it, of course, but I’ve never experienced it…”

“Fucking idiots,” Crowley muttered. How could anyone look at this arse and not want a bite?

He took a deep breath. “I’d like to do this for you. I feel sure it’s something you’ll enjoy. I very much enjoy it. If you _don’t_ enjoy it, you can say so at any time and I’ll stop. Alright?”

Aziraphale looked uncertain. “Al - alright.”

“Just relax, angel,” Crowley soothed, stroking his hand along Aziraphale’s hip. “Lean over, relax, and let me make you feel good.”

Aziraphale nodded, then bent obediently, offering himself up. 

Crowley sighed to himself once Aziraphale couldn’t see. His poor angel had been so deprived - of love, of affection, and now he’d learned that Aziraphale had been deprived of a highly pleasurable sex act. Crowley felt that a great deal rested on his performance now. If he didn’t make sure that Aziraphale enjoyed it, they may never do it again. And Crowley _really_ enjoyed a good rimjob - both giving and receiving. 

So he rubbed his hands all over Aziraphale soothingly and started placing kisses to his spine. Aziraphale was tense beneath his lips, so he whispered reassurances as he went. When his angel relaxed a little, Crowley parted his cheeks again, gently, getting himself into position. Then he used his tongue to lick a long stripe from the crease on Aziraphale’s balls all the way to the top of his crack. 

“Oh!”

“That good?”

“I - I think so. You can do it again.”

“With pleasure, angel. And do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Tell me what you like and don’t like. Talk to me. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Crowley nodded to himself in satisfaction, then applied his tongue to Aziraphale’s hole, licking gently. He started off slow, not wanting to frighten his angel, but gradually built speed and intensity, his tongue flying, massaging the tight knot. 

The key to a good rimjob, Crowley believed, was getting messy, and if that were a barometer by which to measure success, he was _very_ successful. Saliva covered his face and dripped down his chin - and it was dripping from Aziraphale’s bollocks, too. But the _real_ barometer was the pleasure of his partner, Crowley knew, and it seemed that he was doing well on that front, as well. Aziraphale howled in pleasure, occasionally pounding his fist down onto Crowley’s couch, babbling and cursing and begging while Crowley did his best to make him fall apart.

“Crowley, oh, Crowley, it feels so good, I can’t…”

Crowley applied sucking kisses to his hole and discreetly reached for the lube. 

“Oh, oh, Crowley, yes! More! I need you to fuck me, darling!”

 _I’m one step ahead of you,_ Crowley thought, opening the little packet of lube and getting it on his fingers. Gently, he brought his lubed finger up to circle and massage at his hole, preparing him, while his tongue continued to work. The lube tasted like cherries and Crowley made a mental note to thank Anathema later. 

Crowley started to push his finger against the hole, applying gentle pressure, until the tight ring of muscle gave way and Crowley’s finger breached him. Aziraphale gave an utterly _filthy_ moan and rocked back, seeking more. Crowley fucked him on that finger, then added a second, scissoring them. When Aziraphale begged for more, Crowley carefully, gently added a third, making Aziraphale cry out. 

“Are you alright?”

“So good, Crowley. Your fingers are so good. I can’t wait for your cock. Please, fuck me.”

“Are you ready?”

Aziraphale nodded vigorously. “I’m so ready. Please, please fuck me now.”

Crowley didn’t hesitate a moment. He withdrew his fingers gently and positioned himself at Aziraphale’s fluttering hole, pressing the head against him. Aziraphale rocked back against him. 

“Fuck me, my darling.”

Crowley didn’t need to be told again. He pushed forward slowly, firmly, until the head of his cock penetrated Aziraphale’s arse, then he let out a huge breath. 

“You alright, angel?”

“I’m wonderful. Please, Crowley…”

He pushed forward, sliding his cock deeper, his hands clutched tight in his angels’ soft hips. His eyes were glued to the sight of him sinking into Aziraphale’s arse, disappearing inch by inch, until he had gone as far as he could go. 

“ _Fuck_ , you feel so good, angel. Your arse is so hot and tight.”

“It’s yours. It’s all yours. Fuck me, Crowley.”

Crowley obeyed, withdrawing his cock, then pressing back in. Out then in: a dance of conquest and retreat that was as old as time itself. 

“Fucking _hell_ , angel. Your arse is so good. Fuck!”

“Oh, Crowley, my dear… your cock is simply divine. It fills me so perfectly… Give me more. Fuck me harder, dearest. _Claim_ me.”

Crowley fucked him harder, squeezing his hips so hard he was mildly concerned he’d leave marks, racing towards completion. Not wanting to go over alone, he bent over Aziraphale’s back and started pressing fervent kisses to his shoulders, his hand seeking out Aziraphale’s cock and pumping it in time with his thrusts. 

“Ah! Ah! Crowley! Yes, my darling! More!”

Crowley gave it everything he had, fucking him as hard and as fast as he could, _pounding_ into him. His mouth was slack on Aziraphale’s shoulder blade, gasping for breath, and all his focus was on bringing Aziraphale to orgasm. 

“Come, angel. Come for me,” he begged. “Please, please come…”

Aziraphale cried out, a noise that didn’t sound human, and Crowley felt his hole clench around his cock at the same time he registered hot come covering his hand in spurts. Crowley continued to fuck him and stroke him, desperate to prolong his angel’s orgasm, but two strokes, three, then he erupted himself with a strangled cry. 

Time passed. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Crowley didn’t know. All he was aware of were the sensations zinging through his body, making him shudder with pleasure that was unspeakable in its intensity. He was gasping for air, his face resting on Aziraphale’s back, his cock still buried in his angel and his hand still wrapped around Aziraphale’s prick. It seemed like too much effort to move right away - plus he didn’t want to break the moment, so he didn’t. He just draped over Aziraphale and got his bearings. 

After a few seconds, a feeling of unbearable _tenderness_ washed over him, and he started pressing sweet, gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s back. “My angel, my sweetheart, you are so precious…” _I love you._

Aziraphale raised one hand to reach behind himself and run through Crowley’s hair. “My darling, oh my darling.” 

_I love you, I love you_ , Crowley’s heart cried over and over. _I love you, angel_.

But of course, he couldn’t say. So he just kissed every inch of Aziraphale’s back he could reach and whispered words of devotion against his skin - the closest things to prayers he’d uttered in decades. 

Eventually, biology would not be denied, and Crowley slipped out of Aziraphale’s body. Reluctantly, he pulled away, allowing Aziraphale to rise up. Crowley himself collapsed back into the corner of the couch, spent, and started licking the come off of his fingers while he watched Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale used his discarded vest to clean himself, then dropped it again. He turned to Crowley, giving him a soft, almost shy smile, and Crowley opened his arms, indicating Aziraphale should join him. Aziraphale did, cuddling into Crowley’s side with a smile. Crowley kissed his hair. 

_I love you so much_.

“Was that good for you?” he asked instead. 

Aziraphale stroked his chest. “Oh, yes, darling, it was exactly what I wanted. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

He kissed Aziraphale’s hair again. “You don’t need to thank me, angel. I live to please you.”

Aziraphale laughed, but Crowley was entirely serious. He didn’t argue, though. He was too happy for a serious discussion. Besides, that conversation was likely to reveal more than he thought Aziraphale was ready for. 

“Stay with me tonight?” Crowley asked gently. 

“Do you really want me to?”

Crowley grinned. “Wouldn’t have asked otherwise. I want you here with me. I want to hold you all night and wake up with you in my arms in the morning.”

Aziraphale raised his head and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s lips. “I’d love to, my darling.”

“What time do you have to be at work?”

“Not until one, but I’ll need to go home and change.”

“So we don’t need to set an alarm.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so.” 

Crowley sighed happily. “So there’s nothing to stop us from having a good cuddle in the morning.”

Aziraphale giggled. “If that’s what you want, yes.”

“That’s always what I want. I want you, in every way it’s possible for one man to want another.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “You’ve got me.”

_I love you so much._

“Good.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not British and have attended four weddings in my life, so I’m sure there are inaccuracies. Just... work with me, please.

_1 November, 2020_

Aziraphale shook the hand of the groom, kissed the bride’s cheek, then gave them a wave as they left. The crowd followed them out to their car to wave goodbye, and Aziraphale stayed put as the venue emptied. Once most of the guests were gone, leaving mostly staff, he blew out a huge breath and rocked his head back onto his shoulders, closing his eyes for a moment. 

This day had been a nightmare - this weekend, really, starting yesterday - but he’d known it was going to be. After he’d left Crowley yesterday morning, he’d come to work to put on a Halloween wedding. It had been great fun for the guests, but a logistical nightmare behind the scenes. He’d gotten home late last night and collapsed into bed, barely even taking time to text Crowley. Then he’d risen bright and early this morning to work the double-header of weddings, both of which had been challenging. The first wedding had been at eleven and the bride had been a bit difficult to work with. It had been even more challenging because he hadn’t had Tracy with him. She’d thankfully been there for the second wedding, which had started at five. 

It was now almost nine and the bride and groom had just bundled off to their honeymoon, signaling the end of the reception. He’d had his moment of pride in a job well done, now all that was left was to wait for the guests to leave and then supervise the packing in. It was the easiest part of any wedding day, the lowest stress, but also the part he hated most. It felt tedious, and he’d never liked it. Now, though, he had additional reason to want to leave - he’d much prefer to be with Crowley.

Crowley had been on his mind quite a bit this weekend - as much as possible, given how busy he’d been. And it was foolish, Aziraphale knew, but in unguarded moments, he couldn’t help but picture himself and Crowley standing at the front of the church, pledging their undying love. He couldn’t help but imagine him and Crowley cutting into a gorgeous cake, or sharing a slow dance in front of all their family and friends. 

He tried to push those thoughts away as soon as they popped in his mind. Just because he was in love with Crowley didn’t mean that Crowley was in love with _him_. And even if Crowley _did_ love him, that didn’t automatically mean that he’d be interested in getting married and settling down. Crowley didn’t strike him as the traditional, settling-down type. And that was fine. Aziraphale wouldn’t seek to change his mind. To be fair, until he’d met Crowley, he didn’t think he’d ever be considering settling down, himself. But now… now he couldn’t help but wonder.

All of this was terribly premature, though. He’d only been with Crowley properly for a little less than three weeks. These were thoughts that would be more appropriate to be having after they’d been dating six months, or a year. For now, he should just be enjoying what they had and taking one day at a time. 

His mobile chimed in his pocket and he fished it out. He smiled to himself when he saw the message. 

Crowley: _thinking of you._

 _Honestly_ , he thought to himself, _how could I possibly be expected not to love him?_

He slid his finger to unlock it and typed a message in return. 

Aziraphale: _I’m thinking of you, too, darling. More than you know._  
Crowley: _Are you alright?_  
Aziraphale: _Yes, just very tired. It’s been a long day. Long weekend, really._  
Crowley: _What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?_  
Aziraphale: _One._  
Crowley: _Want to come over? Spend the night? I’ll cook for you._

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever been so tempted in his entire life. He wanted to see Crowley so badly he ached, but he was bone tired. If he went over, they’d be up half the night making love, and as much as a part of him wanted that, the biggest part of him needed sleep. 

He was just trying to phrase a polite refusal when Crowley seemed to anticipate him.

Crowley: _not for sex_

Aziraphale raised an amused eyebrow in spite of himself. 

Aziraphale: _You don’t want sex?_  
Crowley: _You’re tired and I get that, so I’m declaring it a sex-free evening. I just want to see you and hold you, spend the night with you._  
Crowley: _Maybe kiss you a little bit_  
Crowley: _But I’ll keep my hands largely to myself_

He was smiling at his mobile, debating with himself and loving Crowley so much it hurt, when Tracy approached. 

“Long day, boss?”

Aziraphale sighed and pocketed his mobile. “You have no idea.”

“Why don’t you head out? Call it a night?”

“We still have a couple hours more work to do,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. You look dead on your feet, Aziraphale. You should go home.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Or maybe to someone else’s home.”

He was too tired to flush. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. Go on, get out of here,” she admonished, pushing his arm gently, playfully. “I’ve got this. You go relax with your bloke.”

“You’re a lifesaver, my dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, let’s not try and find out. Now go be with Crowley and leave the cleanup to me.”

Aziraphale dropped a little kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome. Say hello to Crowley for me.”

“I certainly will. Ring if you need me?”

“I wouldn’t be waiting by the phone if I were you. No go on, shoo! Before I change my mind.”

Aziraphale left obediently, with a smile, taking off his headset and handing it to her, then pulling out his mobile and turning to leave, pulling up Crowley’s messages. 

Aziraphale: _I have to stop by my flat and get a change of clothes, but I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. What’s for dinner?_

~*~O~*~

Forty minutes later found him standing at Crowley’s door, a hastily-packed overnight bag on his shoulder, ringing the bell. The door swung open to reveal Crowley in his usual black jeans and black shirt, but missing his jacket, tie, shoes, and sunglasses. He smiled as if Aziraphale were being there was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Aziraphale beamed right back.

“Come in,” Crowley said, opening the door for Aziraphale, and Aziraphale stepped inside. As soon as he was through the door, Crowley closed it and reached for the overnight bag. 

“You don’t have to --” Aziraphale started, but Crowley hushed him. 

“I want to. Let me carry your bag, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale meekly handed the bag over. 

Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you settled in.” 

He led Aziraphale to his bedroom, putting the bag on the bed, then turned to face him. “Did you bring something to sleep in?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. As much as I love looking at you when you’re wearing a tux, I think you should take it off and put your pyjamas on. You can shower if you want, you know where everything is and I laid a towel out for you. When you get done, come on out to the lounge. I’ll have a glass of wine waiting for you and we can watch whatever you want on telly. Or you can read a book.”

He nearly melted into a little puddle of love and gratitude when Crowley finished talking. “Why are you so good to me?”

Crowley grinned. “I’m just trying to be a decent boyfriend so you’ll keep me.”

Aziraphale laughed, then stepped forward and pulled Crowley into a hug. “You’re the _best_ boyfriend, and I adore you.”

Crowley squeezed him. “I adore you, too, if it wasn’t obvious.”

Aziraphale sighed happily, relaxed in the embrace. He could stand like that for hours, he decided, just wrapped in the arms of his love. But a shower _did_ sound heavenly…

“Alright. I’ll shower and change on one condition.”

“Name it.”

Aziraphale raised his head and smiled at Crowley mischievously. “Kiss me.”

Crowley gave him that lopsided smirk. “My pleasure.”

The next thing he knew, Crowley had his lips pressed against his, soft and undemanding, and Aziraphale forgot entirely about his long, difficult weekend, his sore feet, or his tiredness. All he could think of was Crowley, the taste of his love, the hard lines of his shoulders underneath Aziraphale’s arms, the warm press of his lean body against Aziraphale’s. Instinctively, he parted his lips, deepening the kiss, sending his tongue out to meet Crowley’s. Crowley made a small noise of pleasure and tightened his arms around Aziraphale’s torso, pressing closer. Aziraphale felt his body starting to react. 

Crowley broke the kiss suddenly. “You’d better stop, angel, or I’m going to make a liar out of myself and have you right now.”

Aziraphale smiled against his lips. “Would that be so terrible?”

“Considering I’ve vowed never to lie to you, yes,” Crowley softened his words with a couple of gentle kisses, then stepped back, out of Aziraphale’s arms. “Go shower. By the time you get done, I’ll have dinner waiting.”

Aziraphale sighed. “If you insist, dear.”

“I do insist. The faster you shower, the sooner we can eat, and then I get to hold you.”

“Well now, that _is_ incentive to hurry,” Aziraphale teased lightly. 

“I think so.” Crowley pressed one more kiss to his cheek. “Come on out whenever you’re ready.” 

“Yes, dear.”

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale tried not to dawdle in the shower, knowing that Crowley was waiting for him, but he couldn’t help but lean against the tiled wall and let the warm water run over him, washing away the remnants of the day. The smell of Crowley’s shampoo surrounded him, and he smiled to himself. He hadn’t considered that using Crowley’s shower meant that he’d smell like Crowley, but that was a boon. He’d be reminded of his love with every breath. Not that he ever stopped thinking about Crowley, anyway.

Somewhat rejuvenated, he finished his shower and got out, drying himself and dressing in his pyjamas. His hair was a wild riot on top of his head, the curls damp and somewhat tight, but Aziraphale had forgotten his styling cream and besides, he was only spending a relaxing evening with his boyfriend. Crowley had seen his hair in worse states, like first thing in the morning. It was fine.

He exited the ensuite and spent a minute in Crowley’s bedroom, making sure his tuxedo was hung up properly, but didn’t dally. The smell of dinner was wafting in and Aziraphale was suddenly famished. 

Crowley had turned on the telly in the lounge, cueing up Netflix and leaving the remote on the coffee table beside a glass of wine. Aziraphale smiled at the clear invitation but followed the sounds (and smells) of dinner being made coming from the kitchen. 

When he spotted Crowley standing in front of the stove, his back to the door, Aziraphale just smiled and watched him for a moment. It wasn’t long before the urge to touch was too much, and Aziraphale strode across the kitchen to wrap his arms around Crowley’s waist and bury his face in his neck, taking a deep breath. 

“Feel better?” Crowley asked lightly. 

“Mmm,” Aziraphale agreed, then kissed the skin above Crowley’s collar. “Something smells delicious.”

“I hope you like it. It’s almost ready to plate up.”

“I meant _you_ smell delicious.”

Crowley clicked his tongue playfully. “You’re determined to make a liar out of me, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale laughed. “No, I’m not. Not really. And it means the world to me that you’ve anticipated my exhaustion and declared this a sex-free evening. Thank you.”

Crowley craned his neck to turn and give Aziraphale a quick kiss. “You’re welcome. Now go in the lounge and put your feet up. I’ll be in there with dinner in just a minute.”

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Nope. Go get off your feet. I’m right behind you.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek, loving every inch of him. “Alright, dear.” He gave one more parting squeeze to Crowley’s waist then did as instructed and went back to the lounge. He paused when he got to the doorway, spotting Crowley’s huge black-and-red python roommate curled on the couch, looking at him. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said a bit nervously. “I’m not sure if you remember me, we’ve met but, um, somewhat in passing. I’m Aziraphale, Crowley’s boyfriend.”

Freddie just looked at him blankly, flicking his tongue out to taste the air. 

“I, er, I’ve never had occasion to want to make friends with a snake before, so I don’t quite know how to go about it. But I do think you and I should become friends. If you’re amenable, that is.”

“Who are you talking to, angel?” Crowley asked, coming up behind him, carrying two steaming bowls of food. 

“I was just introducing myself to Freddie again. He looked at me as if he didn’t remember me.”

Crowley rolled his eyes with a smile. “He remembers you fine. Come on. Dinner is ready.” He passed Aziraphale, going ahead into the lounge, sitting the food down on the coffee table. “Oi, you lazy freeloader, get off the couch. We’ve got company, you’re being rude.” He shooed Freddie off the couch impatiently. 

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t do that, dear,” Aziraphale fretted from the doorway. 

There was a line between Crowley’s brows when he looked up. “Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to make _friends_ with him. If he gets the idea that every time I come around, he’s pushed aside, he may resent me.”

The ginger man snorted a laugh. “You’re daft, do you know that?”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Aziraphale protested. “I’ve no interest in having a rival for your affections.”

“I know you’re serious, and that’s what makes it funny. Okay, okay. How about this. Come eat and relax with me for a while, and tomorrow morning, I’ll show you how to feed him and pet him. You can butter up to him a bit and he’ll love you forever.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. He’ll be begging me to have you over.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to snort a laugh. “Now who’s daft?”

“I am,” Crowley replied with a grin. “Now, will you _please_ come over here and sit? You’ve been on your feet all day.”

Aziraphale joined him on the sofa, and they tucked into their food - a delicious stir fry. There was a little bit of light debate about what to watch until they settled on the Great British Bake Off. It was mindless telly, but that was what Aziraphale needed right then. He needed the comfort of Crowley’s proximity and something simple to entertain him. Crowley seemed to know that instinctively, and Aziraphale loved him for it all the more. 

When they finished their meals, Crowley put his bowl on the coffee table and sat back into the corner of the couch, raising his arm to lay across the back. “C’mere, angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He scooted under Crowley’s arm and snuggled up next to him, sighing happily as he settled in.

“Comfy?”

“Hmm. Yes. You’re much softer than you look.”

Crowley chuckled, then kissed his hair. “You smell like me. I like it.”

Aziraphale grinned. “I like it, too.”

They watched the showstopper round in near silence, and between the drone of the telly and the beat of Crowley’s heart under his cheek, Aziraphale was as relaxed as he’d ever been. His horrid weekend seemed to be miles and miles behind him now, and he felt...loved. Even if no words had been spoken, Aziraphale felt it. It felt wondrous and new, and he found himself with a clarity he hadn’t had before. This is what all those songs and poems and plays and books were getting at. This is what it felt like to be loved. He understood now, where he’d never understood before.

He rather thought he liked it.

The episode ended, and Crowley turned to look at him. “Are you ready for bed, or do you want one more?”

“One more, I think. I’m too happy right here to move.”

Crowley kissed his hair again. “I’m happy, too.”

It was the perfect end to a less than perfect weekend. His life had been so hectic since yesterday, he hadn’t even taken the time to --

A thought suddenly occurred to him and he raised his head. 

“What is it, angel?”

“Do you have today’s paper?”

“No, I don’t get the paper. No point in it, really, since I work there. Why?”

“Because the article about me was supposed to be published today. I was just wondering if it still was.”

“I can fire up the laptop if you want me to, and we can check…”

“No, no. It’s alright. It’ll still be there in the morning, right?”

“Right.” 

Aziraphale stroked his chest lightly. “What time do you need to be at work?”

“I took the morning so I could spend it with you. I’ll go in after I take my bloke to lunch.”

He raised his head and grinned at Crowley. “Us spending the mornings together is getting to be habit.”

Crowley smirked back. “A habit I’m not eager to break. And I have a confession to make.”

“What’s that, darling?”

His honey brown eyes twinkled mischievously. “When I told you I had a sex-free evening planned, I _only_ meant the evening. Tomorrow morning, after you’re rested, I fully intend to seduce you. _At least_ once.”

Aziraphale giggled. “I hope you do.”

Crowley kissed him again, smiling, then turned back to the show. Aziraphale let himself be lulled, happier than he’d ever dreamed, and the next thing he knew, Crowley was gently shaking him awake to usher him to bed.

~*~O~*~

_2 November, 2020_

Once again, Crowley was in a fantastic mood when he went into work after lunch. It had been the perfect morning: he’d woken up tangled in the sheets with Aziraphale, and had held his angel until he woke up. Then they’d made sweet, tender love until both of them had been limp with pleasure. Once they’d recovered, they’d made coffee and puttered around the flat a bit. As he’d promised, he’d shown Aziraphale how to feed Freddie, and then he’d taught him how to show affection to an eight foot python. Just as he’d expected, Freddie took to Aziraphale immediately and they were now fast friends. Crowley was ridiculously pleased that the two men in his life seemed to like each other. 

After spending a bit of time solidifying Freddie and Aziraphale’s relationship, Crowley had dragged a giggling Aziraphale into the shower with him, and they’d kissed and touched until Crowley sank to his knees. They’d stayed in there until Aziraphale came to a shuddering climax - and then the water had run cold. Crowley had been proud as a peacock when they’d gotten dressed and he’d escorted his love to lunch. 

They’d parted on the pavement twenty minutes ago, sharing sweet, nuzzling kisses between smiles and promises to speak to each other after work. Crowley had missed him as soon as he’d gotten into his car and pulled away, and he’d immediately started counting the hours until he could see his angel. 

Now he was whistling as he sauntered into work, smiling at people on his way to his office. Nothing could bring him down. He felt invincible. 

“Morning, shitbreath,” he called to Hastur upon entering the office. 

Hastur reclined back in his chair, threading his grubby fingers over his abdomen and smiling toothily. “Well if it isn’t the loverboy. How’s coupledom?”

“Fucking blissful, thanks. You should try settling down sometime - oh wait, I forgot. No one will have your sorry arse.”

That did nothing to dim Hastur’s smile. If anything, it grew. 

“One day, Crawley, one day soon, you’re going to get yours.”

Crowley scoffed. “And I suppose you’ll be the one to give it to me, will you? Look at me, I’m quaking in my boots.”

“One day soon,” Hastur predicted, still smiling. 

Crowley was a little discomfited, but didn’t let on. He just rolled his eyes and sat in his chair. “Haven’t you got an entire profession to be making a mockery of?”

Hastur just chuckled, giving Crowley a case of the heebie-jeebies. But he pushed it aside and turned his back on his office mate, focusing on his work. Well, focusing as well as he could. His mind was still full of Aziraphale, and the fresh memories they’d made over the last sixteen hours or so. He was also thinking of things they could do next. He still hadn’t been able to take Aziraphale to the Ritz, although they’d had reservations twice. Maybe he could make reservations a third time - under an assumed name, since he was fairly sure they wouldn’t accept one from Anthony J Crowley anymore - for his and Aziraphale’s one month anniversary. That was an idea. But should they celebrate on the twelfth, when they’d crossed the line? Or the thirteenth, when they’d finally been able to come together? Perhaps they should celebrate the twenty-eighth, the anniversary of their actual first date? Crowley wasn’t sure which date would hold more significance to Aziraphale. He’d have to ask. Then he smiled to himself… perhaps he should ask Anathema to let the stars decide. He almost laughed at his own silliness, but was actually considering it. She hadn’t been wrong so far. Maybe he should --

He put that thought to the side and attempted to concentrate on work. There were four MPs that had been meeting behind closed doors frequently, and they seemed to be unlikely allies to Crowley. His instinct was that there was a story there. He was doing a deep dive into each of their backgrounds, trying to find a link between them, when his mobile rang. 

He smiled, but was a little puzzled when he saw it was Aziraphale. They rarely talked on the phone anymore, and never during business hours. What on earth could he want?

Regardless, Crowley was glad to hear from him and answered the phone with a smile. 

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“How could you?”

Aziraphale’s voice was shaking with anger and it sounded as if he’d been crying. Every muscle in Crowley’s body tensed and he sat up, straight as an arrow.

“Aziraphale?”

“How _could_ you, Crowley?”

“Hang on. Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m not alright, you arse! And it’s all your fault!”

“What did I do?” Crowley asked, his heart pounding, genuinely puzzled. 

“I _trusted_ you,” Aziraphale spat, his voice clotted with tears. “I _believed_ you. God help me, I _loved_ you, Crowley!”

The word ‘loved’ sent a shockwave through every cell of Crowley’s body. It was what he’d been dying to hear, but it was past tense. Oh, no. Oh, _no._

“I’m not following, angel. I don’t understand --”

Aziraphale gave a harsh, very un-Aziraphale-like laugh. “Well, that makes two of us, _darling_ , because I don’t understand either.”

Crowley shot to his feet. “Where are you? Stay where you are, I’ll come to you, and we’ll talk when I get there.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s over between us, Anthony Crowley. You’ve ruined me and I never want to see you again as long as I live!”

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale! Wait!”

But it was no use. The phone was silent in his hand. 

His mind was a whirl and he couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. Had Aziraphale just broken up with him? Why? What had he done? Most importantly, how could he fix it? 

Crowley was such a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions, he’d entirely forgotten he wasn’t alone in his office. He remembered when the chair squeaked and Hastur said in a saccharine-sweet voice, “Trouble in paradise?”

Crowley whirled around, comprehension dawning, murder in his eyes. “What did you do?”

Hastur just smiled wickedly. 

“ _What did you do, Hastur?_ ”

Hastur reached behind himself and picked up a newspaper, offering it to Crowley, still smiling malevolently. “My job,” he said simply. “I did exactly what my boss asked me to, and I did it with pleasure.”

Crowley snatched the paper away from him and stared at it. 

_Aziraphale Fell, Angel of Love - and Ripoffs. Story by Anthony J Crowley and Hastur laVista._

His eyes widened in horror with every paragraph until he was forced to sit down because his legs wouldn’t support him. 

_Oh, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎵Just remember I love you, and it’ll be alright!🎶


	21. Chapter 21

Aziraphale opened the door to his flat in a tearing hurry, rushed inside, slammed the door behind him, turned the deadbolt, then collapsed against it in a sobbing mess. He was crushed, absolutely _devastated_ , and his awful emotions were nearly choking him. He cried noisy tears, doing his best to get them all out, but it seemed that there was no bottom to the pit of despair he was in. He sank to the floor and buried his face in his hands. 

Just last night, he’d been cuddling on the couch with Crowley, thinking how wonderful it was to feel loved. Stupid! How could he have been so stupid? He’d known better than to give his heart away, but he’d done it anyway, like a hormonal teenager. Honestly, Aziraphale deserved this. It served him right for being such a fool. 

His mobile rang for the umpteenth time and he pulled it out to look at it. Crowley’s smiling face was on the screen, and Aziraphale jammed the red button to ignore the call. He did _not_ want to talk to Crowley right now. At this moment, he never wanted to talk to Crowley again. Ever. 

The thought of a future without Crowley made him cry harder, but that was the reality. He couldn’t possibly be expected to forgive Crowley after what he’d done. No, it was over. Aziraphale had been right all those years - love really _was_ something that happened to other people, but wasn’t meant for him. 

He cried for a few more minutes, doing his best to drain the gaping emotional wound that had been inflicted on him today, ignoring three more calls from Crowley and a flurry of texts coming in. He needed to not think about Crowley for a while, but that seemed like an impossibility. Why, Aziraphale even _smelled_ like him at the moment. 

Well, he decided, that was where he should start. He would get himself together and go shower. Rinse this day right down the drain - or, at the very least, rinse Crowley’s scent off of him. Once his nostrils were no longer full of Crowley, maybe he’d be better equipped to deal with this. Maybe he’d have a clearer head. _Maybe_. Aziraphale frankly doubted it, but it was a hope - albeit a small one. Something for him to cling to. 

He got to his feet slowly, still snuffling, his lip quivering, but determined. He had a mission now, something to concentrate on. It helped, and he was able to hold himself together until he got into the shower with the hot water sluicing over his body. Then he was reminded of his last shower, this morning with Crowley, and the tears came again. 

He didn’t let himself cry long, though. “Stop it,” he ordered himself, his voice harsh. “Stop it right this instant. Don’t you _dare_ think of him.”

With new resolve, he started washing his hair and body, determined not to think of Crowley if he could possibly help it. Crowley was a part of his past now, and there was no use thinking of him. Sure, Aziraphale had let himself believe that what he had with Crowley was real, but everyone made mistakes. Aziraphale would never give his heart away again. 

A little voice replied that he’d never _be able_ to give his heart away again, because Crowley would own it forever. He tamped that voice down viciously. 

As he washed himself, in the absence of thinking about Crowley, his mind turned to the article and its aftermath. He’d forgotten entirely about the article until he’d walked into his office and been immediately followed by a fuming Gabriel, who had come in and shut the door before Aziraphale could even put his briefcase down and have a seat. 

“Gabriel,” he’d said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Are you still seeing that reporter?” Gabriel had demanded.

Aziraphale had blinked. “Crowley? Yes, I am. Why?”

Gabriel had thrown the Sunday society pages on the desk between them. Aziraphale’s own face had been smiling up at him. 

_Aziraphale Fell - Angel of Love…and Ripoffs._ And below that, the name _Anthony J. Crowley_.

“Read it,” Gabriel had said, and Aziraphale had done so. The article had started out well enough, he supposed, but the more he read, the more horrified and embarrassed he’d been. 

_The wedding planner has earned a reputation as the ‘angel of love’, due to his high success rates. And indeed, they are impressive. But underlying that is a deeply lonely man who cannot seem to find love in his own life. Perhaps that is why he has a lengthy questionnaire for prospective clients and excludes the majority of happy couples, often for arbitrary reasons, based solely on his ‘good feeling’ about them._

Aziraphale had felt sick, utterly _sick_ , but hadn’t been able to stop reading. 

_Fell requests that his wealthy clients be willing to donate their leftover food and flowers to charities, and frequently cites any refusal as a reason not to work with engaged couples. But in other cases, he doesn’t seem to care whether his clients want to contribute to his altruism or not, and simply donates the items without the couples’ knowledge. “No one’s ever been the wiser,” says his assistant, Tracy Shadwell._

He’d read the whole article through eyes that were filling with tears, each paragraph stabbing him more, twisting the knife a bit deeper. On the surface, it seemed like a benign presentation of facts, but there had been an undercurrent of nastiness underneath it - and Crowley, the only man Aziraphale had ever loved, had written it. 

Aziraphale had looked up at Gabriel, his eyes shining with tears, his face a mask of shock and hurt. He hadn’t known what to say, and his mouth had worked soundlessly. 

Gabriel’s eyes had been flinty, his jaw hard. “This is _not_ the type of coverage I was hoping to get from this article,” he’d said in a deadly calm voice. 

“Gabriel, I…”

But he’d been cut off as Gabriel lit into a tirade. His boss had been livid, more angry than Aziraphale had ever seen him, and had threatened to fire Aziraphale. Aziraphale had had no defense, he’d just cried silently and took it while his boss ranted and raved. 

“Fix it,” Gabriel had demanded. 

“I don’t know if I can,” Aziraphale had said through his tears.

“Make your boyfriend print a retraction.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. Not after this.”

Gabriel had growled, dragging his fingers through his hair, an affectation Aziraphale had only ever seen from him a handful of times in the last twenty years. 

“I knew you were soft,” he’d muttered, disgusted. 

Aziraphale had choked back a sob. 

“Get out,” he’d finally said, and pointed towards the door. “You’re dismissed until all of this blows over. Possibly permanently. Call me on Thursday morning and we’ll talk.”

Aziraphale had gathered himself as best he could, tears still flowing, and left his job - the only job he’d ever had - unsure if he would ever return. 

He’d called Crowley from his car on the way home, and had officially broken things off with him. 

Now here he was, in his shower, alone and crying again. This morning, just a couple of hours ago, his life had been perfect. Now it was in shambles. 

He allowed himself another few minutes to cry, to grieve, to let out as much sorrow as he could. This would be the last ugly cry until he retired tonight. He was determined to keep himself together for the most part, only allowing the occasional stray tear. He needed to make a plan, and he couldn’t do that if he was allowing himself to fall to pieces. It was time to keep calm and carry on. 

Once he’d cried himself out (again), he turned off the water and exited the shower, his lip wavering but his eyes mostly dry. He’d gotten himself dressed, then gone to the kitchen to make himself some good, strong tea. 

His mobile was going off again when he re-entered the lounge, and he started to ignore it entirely, but his curiosity got the best of him and he allowed himself to peek at the screen. It was Tracy, not Crowley. Aziraphale didn’t particularly feel like talking to _anyone_ , not even his dearest friend, but knew his assistant wouldn’t let him rest until they spoke. So he answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale! Are you alright?”

His lip wobbled again, but he denied it. He took a deep breath. “I’m quite alright,” he lied. 

“I’m outside. Was just about to ring your buzzer. Let me in.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You’re outside?”

“Yes. Let me in.”

Oh, he _really_ didn’t feel up to entertaining right now, but knowing Tracy, she was likely to set up camp outside his door until she got her way. So, with a sigh, he agreed.

“I’ll be right there.”

She hung up without another word and he buzzed her in. A few seconds later, she knocked on the door. He took a second to square his shoulders before he opened it. 

“Tracy, dear,” he said with an entirely false smile. “You didn’t need to trouble yourself.”

She made a dismissive gesture and breezed into his flat. “I’m putting the kettle on.” 

Aziraphale sighed to himself again. “It’s already on.”

She didn’t say much as she took charge and made the tea, and Aziraphale was grateful for the silence, but he knew it wouldn’t last. She was picking her moment, and he knew it. Sure enough, as soon as they sat down at his little kitchen table with two steaming mugs of tea, she spoke. 

“How are you, dear?”

“I’m fine,” he lied again, giving her a brittle smile. 

“You’re not,” she replied, her eyes shrewd. “Tell me what happened.”

“You already know what happened. You read the article Crowley wrote. The things he said. He quoted you in it, more than once!”

“Yes, but I thought he _wasn’t_ writing the article? I thought he’d passed the story on to someone else. This Hastur fellow.”

“It has his name on it,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Yes, but it had laVista’s name on it, too. What if Crowley didn’t write it and they only put his name on there for the research?”

Aziraphale hadn’t considered that. Was it possible? No, he decided. He shouldn’t even allow himself to think like that. Crowley’s name was on it, and there was only one reason that could be. 

“Even if he _didn’t_ write it, he gathered all the information about me. All those things…”

“Those are not bad things. I guarantee that they were presented to him as _positives_. But this Hastur character spun them into something negative.”

He ignored her. “Why would Crowley do this?” Aziraphale asked plaintively, his eyes watering again. 

“I don’t think _Crowley_ did,” Tracy said, reaching across and taking Aziraphale’s hand. “I think he loves you. There has to have been some mistake.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “The only mistake is the one I made, trusting him.”

“No, I don’t think you made a mistake. You should talk to him.”

He recoiled. “No.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I can’t do it,” he protested, the tears wobbling in his eyes, threatening to spill. “I can’t face him after what he did.”

“I’m not saying you need to talk to him _now_ , only that you need to. Give yourself a day or so to process what happened, then talk to him.”

“I never want to speak to him again.”

Tracy leaned forward in her chair. “Let me give you a bit of advice. A life lesson someone I know learned the hard way. I had a friend, Janice, who was dating this bloke. She was mad about him, completely mad. But one night, he came home late, smelling like perfume. She kicked him right out, and wouldn’t hear a word of what he said. She refused to listen to him. Broke her heart to do it, but she did it. Then she found out several years later that he’d been with his sister. It had all been a huge misunderstanding, and she lost the love of her life over it. She spent the next ten years completely alone and miserable.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s what you’re in danger of doing if you don’t let him explain. It took you all this time to find love, Aziraphale. Don’t throw away the house because you’ve lost the key. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He nodded, lowering his gaze to look at his mug of tea. It _was_ possible that this was all a misunderstanding, but…

“What if it’s not a misunderstanding? What if he actually did it?”

“Then you have my full throated support in telling him to fuck off. I’m on _your_ side here, Aziraphale. But I think you deserve to know the absolute truth.”

He nodded again and the tears finally spilled, falling hot on his cheeks. In an instant, Tracy was out of her seat and around the table, wrapping her frail arms around him in a tight hug. “It’s alright, dear. I know it hurts. You just let it out. Then you pick yourself up and call him. You owe it to yourself. But I’m here now. Just let it out.”

Aziraphale broke his own word to himself and fell apart again.

~*~O~*~

After about an hour and a half of tea and sympathy (and imparted wisdom), Tracy left Aziraphale to his own devices. He was simultaneously sorry to see her go and relieved when she left. She had given him a great deal to think about: Crowley’s possible innocence most of all, but she’d also informed him that the article may not have ruined his career, as he’d thought. According to Tracy, Heavenly Events had gotten over a hundred phone calls today wanting to hire Aziraphale as an event coordinator - an increase in call volume of nearly a thousand percent. “Gabriel can’t fire you,” Tracy had reasoned. “He’d be mad to do so. Most of them cited the article as the _reason they wanted_ to hire you, and none of your established clients sacked you. It would be like getting rid of the goose that laid the golden egg because you didn’t like his feathers.”

He fervently hoped Tracy was right. 

His mobile had rung several times over the course of her visit, all of them calls and texts from Crowley, and she had given him the same pursed-lip look every time he’d sent the calls to voicemail. After some reflection, Aziraphale now agreed that he needed to speak with Crowley directly, and he _would_ , he just… wasn’t ready yet. 

After Tracy left, he took a mug of cocoa, his mobile, and a book and retired to his favorite chair to read, hoping to distract himself and keep his mind occupied. It only partially worked, and every time Crowley rang or sent a text, Aziraphale had to fight the waves of sadness he felt. But gradually, as the evening wore on, the calls started coming less frequently until they finally stopped. After fifteen minutes without a call or text, Aziraphale melted down into a little panic. What if that was it? What if Crowley had given up? What if it really _was_ over? He let himself shed a few more tears over that horrible thought, but he still couldn’t bring himself to call Crowley just yet. 

Just when he was gathering himself from his latest bout of tears, his mobile rang again. He snatched it up, debating whether he should talk to Crowley _now_ , even when he wasn’t ready, or continue to wait. But it wasn’t Crowley’s name on the screen. It was Anathema’s. He answered on impulse. 

“Hello?”

“We need to talk.”

Aziraphale almost hung up right then. He wasn’t up to her brashness tonight. He was feeling too fragile. 

“Anathema, I’m really not up to it. It’s been a horrid day…”

“I know, and that’s why I’m calling. I won’t keep you long. Please?”

He sighed. “Alright. I have a minute.”

“Good. First, are you okay?”

Aziraphale put on a brave little smile, although she couldn’t see it. “I’m fine, dear.”

“No, you’re not. How could you be?”

He huffed, exasperated. “Then why did you ask, if you already knew I was distraught?”

“Because I was hoping you’d be honest with me.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Alright, I’ll be honest. I’m not at my best, but I’m better than I was a few hours ago. And I’m sure I’ll _be_ fine in the not-too-distant future.”

“That’s a bit better.”

“Good. Now if you were only calling for a wellness check --”

“He didn’t write the article,” she interjected. 

Aziraphale hesitated a moment. “How do you know that?”

“Because I called him to curse him out for what he wrote, thinking he’d been the one to write it. He swore to me that he didn't, that he was set up.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a breath. Had he been unfair? Too quick to jump the gun? Was Tracy right after all? Oh, he’d never forgive himself if he’d ruined everything over nothing. 

“How, exactly, was he set up?”

“He says that Beezle, his editor, was furious when my father called and got Crowley taken off the story. Beezle had explicitly ordered that Crowley not touch you for that five weeks, and he’d disobeyed. Beezle had wanted to fire him, but my father wouldn’t let them, which only pissed them off more.”

“Alright,” he said, following along. He already knew most of this and was eager to get to the new information. 

“So Crowley shares an office with this guy, Hastur, and the two of them are bitter rivals. Always needling each other, trying to one-up each other, that sort of thing. And Beezle selected Hastur to write the article, knowing this.”

Aziraphale was beginning to understand, and the pit in his stomach that he’d had all day shifted, changed shape. He’d gotten this terribly wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

“Oh. Oh dear…”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea.”

Her voice was sympathetic. “You had no way of knowing. But I’m here to plead Crowley’s case. He’s absolutely destroyed, Zira. Completely broken up over this. And he’s been trying to call you to explain…”

“But I haven’t been answering,” he finished dully. 

“Right.”

Oh, poor, poor Crowley. Aziraphale had jumped to conclusions and lashed out. In doing so, he had hurt Crowley deeply. What had he done?

“Thank you for calling, Anathema. I think there’s someone else I need to call now.”

“Yes, you do. Call him and you two work it out, then call me tomorrow and let me know you’re okay. Deal?”

“Yes, I can do that. Thank you for calling, Anathema.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck.”

Aziraphale murmured something in return, he wasn’t sure what, but ended the call. For a moment he just stared into space, trying to make sense of all this. Then he opened his messenger app and read the messages from Crowley he’d been steadfastly ignoring all day. 

Crowley: _I didn’t write that. I swear. You have to believe me_  
Crowley: _angel, please answer your phone_  
Crowley: _I’ve been set up by people who don’t like me. They used you to hurt me. Please, angel._  
Crowley: _can you at least let me know you’re okay? I’m worried out of my mind_  
Crowley: _I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry_  
Crowley: _I’ll do anything, just let me explain_  
Crowley: _I would never hurt you. You gotta believe me._  
Crowley: _please, please answer your phone. Just give me one chance to explain_  
Crowley: _I’m so sorry, angel. I’ll do anything you ask. Please_

The last message had come an hour ago, and then nothing. Aziraphale wiped away the tears that had fallen while he read Crowley’s messages. He’d hurt the man he loved so badly. Would Crowley ever forgive him? 

He clicked reply and typed up a message. 

Aziraphale: _I think we need to talk. Can you come over?_

His reply was immediate:

Crowley: _Stay put. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll explain everything, I swear._

Aziraphale lay down the mobile and dried his face, then set about practicing what he’d say when Crowley arrived.


	22. Chapter 22

Crowley was pacing, just as he had been for the better part of the day. His thoughts were chaotic and frenetic and wouldn’t allow him to sit still for any significant period of time. He felt like if he were to try to be still he might shake apart. So he kept moving, walking the circuit around his couch, bouncing his ball every now and then, talking in a constant stream of anxiety and stress to Freddie and his plants. But no matter how much he talked about the problem he faced, the biggest problem he’d _ever_ faced, no solution was forthcoming. Not if Aziraphale wouldn’t talk to him. 

He’d called and texted Aziraphale at least fifty times since this afternoon, when Aziraphale had called him and broken it off. So far, none of his calls or texts had been answered. But he had to talk to Crowley at some point, right? He had to. Crowley didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t.

The time he hadn’t been pacing, he’d spent writing, feverishly typing on his laptop’s keyboard, trying to wrangle his thoughts into something coherent. He didn’t know how effective he’d been, what he’d written was probably as chaotic as his brain, but he’d felt better for having done _something_. Not much better, but anything was a blessing right now. 

When his mobile had rung an hour ago, he’d dove for it, answering before he even saw who it was. To his great dismay, it had been Anathema, not Aziraphale, and she had immediately lit into him for writing the article. Crowley had protested that he _didn't_ and had explained what happened. He’d been unable to stop himself from getting choked up when he told Anathema about how Aziraphale had broken up with him and now wouldn’t answer his calls. In another life, at another time, he might have been embarrassed by the show of emotion. Tonight, he couldn’t care. 

Anathema had listened to him sympathetically, then asked what he intended to do. He’d replied that he had every intention to throw himself at Aziraphale’s mercy, he just needed a chance to talk to him. Anathema, saint that she was, had said, ‘Leave it to me,’ and Crowley had nearly collapsed in relief. Anathema had been the guardian angel of his relationship with Aziraphale so far, he had no reason not to trust her now. It was a little unreal to him, how much he had come to rely on Anathema - especially given his preconceived notion of her as a society airhead. Now she held his happiness in her hands. 

She’d instructed him not to contact Aziraphale anymore until he’d heard back from her, and Crowley had agreed eagerly. He’d do anything Anathema asked. 

That had been twenty minutes ago, and Crowley had nearly chewed a hole into his lip in that twenty minutes. On every circle around the couch, he stared at his mobile, willing it to ring, but so far, it had given him nothing. It was killing him to wait, and he was weighing the pros and cons of contacting Anathema again when his text tone played. He snatched up his mobile and stared at the screen. 

Aziraphale: _I think we should talk. Can you come over?_

Crowley’s heart was in his throat when he typed out his reply and sent it. 

“Gotta go, Freddie,” he tossed out as he grabbed his coat and keys. “Wish me luck.”

Then he was gone.

~*~O~*~

Crowley had always considered traffic laws to be arbitrary, more suggestions than anything, and he proved his disdain for them once again by breaking every single one he knew of on the way to Aziraphale’s. All he could think of - all he cared about - was getting to Aziraphale and apologizing until he ran out of words. He just needed a chance. He could make his angel understand if he just had a _chance_. Crowley spent the entire drive with both hands clenched on the wheel, rehearsing what he would say.

He parked his Bentley haphazardly a couple of streets away from Aziraphale’s flat, as near as he could get it, and hurried down the pavement towards Aziraphale. He briefly considered stopping at the florist and buying the biggest bouquet of roses he could carry, but dismissed the idea. He didn’t have time to waste. He needed to get to his angel _now_.

Finally, _finally_ , he found himself at the bookshop and rushed to the buzzer to press the button urgently. 

“Yes?”

“It’s me, angel. Can I come up?”

There was no answer, just the buzzing that signaled that the door was unlocked, and he opened it hurriedly. Thirty seconds later, he was standing in front of Aziraphale’s door and took a moment to gather himself. He shook out his limbs and rolled his shoulders then, on an impulse, took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. Bracing himself, he knocked. 

His heart was in his throat as he waited for Aziraphale to open the door, and he planned what to say again for the hundredth time like lightning. But all his words fled when the door swung open and he got a look at Aziraphale. 

He was wearing different clothes than he’d had on that morning, and while he was beautiful - he was _always_ beautiful to Crowley - he looked haggard. His eyes were red and puffy, like he’d been crying all day, and Crowley’s heart sunk at the sight. He’d done that to his angel. He’d hurt him, he’d made him cry. 

_No_ , he told himself sternly. Beezle and Hastur had done this. But it was up to him to fix it. 

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, and Crowley couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His hands itched to grab Aziraphale and pull him into a comforting embrace, but he didn’t know if that would be welcomed. His mind, which had been full to bursting all day, was suddenly blank. He opened his mouth to say something, God only knew what, but Aziraphale spoke first. 

“Would you like to come in?”

His voice was clipped, businesslike, and it scared the hell out of Crowley. Crowley shut his mouth and nodded. 

Aziraphale led him into the lounge and indicated that Crowley should sit on the couch with him. Crowley sat delicately, leaving a good distance between him and Aziraphale, watching him carefully. 

Once Aziraphale was situated a couple of feet away, he wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eye. His hands were joined in his lap, twisting and wringing, and his eyes were downcast. Crowley wanted to say something, anything, but his mind was still blank. 

“I think I owe you an apology,” Aziraphale began, still looking at his hands. 

Suddenly, Crowley’s words were back, and they tumbled out of him in a rush. “No, angel, I owe _you_ an apology. You were used as a pawn to get back at me, you were caught up in some bullshit revenge scheme, and I’m _so fucking sorry_. I would _never_ have written your story that way, angel, I would _never_ intentionally do _anything_ to hurt you. I’d rather die. You’ve got to believe me.”

Aziraphale looked up then, his eyes shining with unshed tears but a ghost of a smile on his face. “I believe you.”

Crowley was shocked. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. He blinked, surprised. “You do?”

The blond man nodded. “Yes. I know you’d never hurt me. I do know that, yet I lashed out at you earlier today. I didn’t trust you, in that critical moment, and it was so very wrong of me. It’s for that reason _I_ must beg your forgiveness.”

“I forgive you,” Crowley said at once, cutting off whatever else Aziraphale had planned on saying. It didn’t matter now. 

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled. “You’d forgive me for hurting you this way, just like that?”

Crowley couldn’t stand another second without touching his angel. He reached out slowly, giving Aziraphale time to pull away. When he didn’t, he brought his hand up to caress Aziraphale’s cheek and smiled softly. 

“Angel, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t forgive of you. Don’t you know that?”

A single tear spilled from Aziraphale’s eye and cut a crystal track down his cheek. Crowley brushed it away with his thumb. 

“Can I hold you?” he asked, his voice tender. “Please, angel, please let me hold you.”

He had just a glimpse of Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbling before he found himself wrapped in a sudden, fierce hug. Aziraphale was trembling and his shoulders were shaking as Crowley wrapped him up in his arms. He wasn't able to stop his own tears of relief and thanks to be holding his angel again, and buried his face in Aziraphale’s sweet-smelling shoulder. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” Aziraphale breathed, his voice tremulous. 

Crowley squeezed him tighter. “You’ll never lose me, unless you want to. And if you _do_ try to get rid of me, you should be prepared for me to put up one hell of a fight. I want this - I want _you_ \- for as long as you’ll have me.”

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, holding each other tight, both of them sniffing occasionally. It didn't matter. Crowley was where he was meant to be. 

Eventually, they pulled away from each other, but only a little. Crowley needed Aziraphale close, needed to be touching him somehow, and it seemed Aziraphale felt the same way. Aziraphale’s eyes were red again and Crowley was sure his were, too, but neither mentioned it. 

“So I guess we’ve had our first row?” Aziraphale said, smiling weakly. 

Crowley returned the smile. “I’d say so. I hope this is the biggest one we ever have. I hope all the rest of our rows from here on out are about what to have for dinner or some inconsequential shite like that.”

Aziraphale huffed a watery laugh. “I hope so, too, dear.”

Crowley asked the question that was burning within him. “Are we back on? You’re my boyfriend still?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. If you’ll have me.”

“So I can kiss you now?” Crowley asked, brushing Aziraphale’s cheek and tracing his fingers over the shell of his ear. 

“If you’d like.”

Crowley responded by closing his eyes and leaning forward to press his lips to Aziraphale’s. His heart sang at the contact, and it felt as if his very soul sighed in relief. Crowley deliberately kept the kiss soft and chaste, wanting to communicate his undying love in that moment. It felt pure, this moment they were in, and Crowley didn’t want to run the risk of sending the wrong message. 

He kept his eyes closed when the kiss broke, laying his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “You scared me, angel,” he whispered. “I thought I’d lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You haven’t lost me,” Aziraphale whispered in return. 

Crowley kissed him lightly. “Good.”

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Will you stay with me tonight? I think I need you near to me, near enough to touch.”

Crowley smiled. “I’d love to. I need to be with you, too.”

“Thank you, darling. I’ll set an alarm so you have time to go home and get changed for work.”

“I don’t have a job.”

Aziraphale sat back, his eyes wide with shock. “You _what_?”

“I quit my job this afternoon. Well, this evening. About three hours ago, actually.”

“Crowley!”

“What?”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because of what they did to you.”

“ _Crowley!_ ”

“What?”

“You have to have a job, darling.”

Crowley shrugged. “There are scads of papers in London, and I’m an award-winning journalist. I don’t think I’ll be unemployed long. But after I found out what Beezle had done, I sat down immediately and wrote a correction. Then I demanded they print it. When they refused, I told them to get fucked and walked out.”

Aziraphale still looked shocked and appalled. “I can’t let you do that, Crowley.”

“It’s already done.”

“I’m not worth losing your job over!”

Crowley kissed his silly mouth and smiled. “You’re worth so much more than my job, Aziraphale. So very much more.”

Aziraphale still looked tortured. “Crowley…”

“Would you like to read the correction I wrote?” Crowley asked, cutting him off. 

“Do you have it?”

Crowley sat back a little and pulled out his mobile, opening it up and going to google documents. Once he had the correction on the screen, he passed the mobile to Aziraphale. 

“Read it,” he encouraged. 

Aziraphale took the phone and started to read. “ _On 1 November, this paper printed a profile of Aziraphale Fell, a wedding planner known to many as the angel of love. While the bare facts and quotes presented in the profile were accurate, those facts were spun into a highly inaccurate and unflattering picture of Mr. Fell. It was implied that Mr. Fell is swindling his clientele, but that is untrue. He has merely donated uneaten food to local charities and reused flowers for lower-income couples to save them money. It was also implied that Mr. Fell is a lonely, bitter man who punishes happy couples for being happy while he remains single and unloved. I assure you, as someone who knows Mr. Fell very well, that could not be farther from the truth. Mr. Fell delights in helping couples to have their dream weddings every day, and has done so for over twenty years, regardless of his own relationship status. And the implication that he is unloved is also false. This reporter happens to be madly in love with him._ ”

He stopped reading and looked up at Crowley, his eyes wide again. “You - you _love_ me?”

Crowley swallowed his nerves as best he could and nodded. “I do, angel. I love you so much it scares me. And today, you told me that you’d loved me, but it was over. I’m begging you to tell me that you didn’t mean that, that your love for me isn’t past tense.” 

All at once, he found himself wrapped into another exuberant hug, Aziraphale squeezing him tight, and Crowley hugged him back, smiling. “Alright?”

Aziraphale laughed and released the hug, cupping Crowley’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly. “I love you so much, Crowley. Just so much. And there’s nothing past tense about it.”

Crowley couldn’t help it, he _attacked_ Aziraphale’s mouth, the mouth that had just said those blessed words. He didn’t try to keep this kiss chaste this time, letting his tongue explore, meeting Aziraphale’s and tangling with it. They kissed until the need for oxygen became too great, then he broke away, declaring his love over and over between the kisses he was raining on Aziraphale’s face. 

“I love you, I love you so much, _God_ , angel, you’re all I ever want in this world and I love you so fucking much…”

“I love you, too, Crowley. With my whole heart.”

Crowley captured his lips again, kissing him fervently. “Say it again,” he requested. 

“I love you, my darling. I love you so much.”

“Again.”

“I love you. My only love…”

Crowley nipped his throat, then kissed the skin there gently. “One more time.”

Aziraphale grabbed fistfuls of Crowley’s jacket and leaned backwards, pulling Crowley on top of him. Crowley went eagerly, smiling, loving this take-charge side of his boyfriend. It didn’t take them long to find themselves completely horizontal, and Aziraphale had his arms wrapped securely around Crowley. His blue eyes were clear and full of love. 

“I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, more fully and more completely than any human has ever loved another, and I will love you until the end of time. Kiss me.”

“Yes, sir,” Crowley agreed. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed when the kiss broke a few seconds later. “I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you, too, angel.”

Aziraphale nuzzled in, and Crowley sighed contentedly. 

“You make me so happy, Aziraphale Fell. I swear to spend the rest of my life doing my best to make you as happy as you make me.”

Aziraphale snuggled closer. “I can’t imagine ever being happier than I am right now.” 

Crowley kissed his hair. “Give me the chance to try.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, smiling. “I’ll give you anything you want. Anything at all. It’s all yours. I love you.”

He beamed, then closed his eyes in bliss. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue goes up on Monday!!


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of this story. If you had told me I'd have over fifteen thousand hits and almost fifteen hundred comments on this little story when I started it in March, I'd have laughed at you. But you guys have been so, so incredible, and I can't even begin to thank you enough. 
> 
> Extra special thanks go out to everyone who helped me along the way, particularly NarumiKaiko and FamiliarFan. Thank you so, so much. 
> 
> All my love to you! Enjoy the epilogue!

_August, 2021_

Aziraphale was in familiar territory: running around a posh venue with a headset, overseeing a large number of people as they scurried around, preparing for a wedding. It was a role he’d played countless times for countless weddings, but he was a tad bit more frazzled today than normal, and his anxiety was causing him to be a little more snappish.

“No, no, don’t light the candles now,” he lectured, scurrying over to one of the tables in the reception hall. “If you light them too soon, they’ll be unsightly nubs halfway through the reception! Wait until the wedding is over. You!” he called, waving down someone near the cake to get their attention. “Careful with that cake! Don’t set the flowers so close to it, what if a breeze caught them and knocked them into the cake? It would ruin the buttercream!”

He was clucking like a hen, picking nits over tiny issues, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Tracy standing there, her arms crossed, her lips pursed, tapping her foot - the very picture of impatience. 

“Give me the headset.”

Immediately, he started defending himself. “Dear, they’re trying to light the candles _now_ , before the ceremony even begins!”

She held her hand out. “The headset, Aziraphale.”

He sighed, but removed the headset and put it in her hand. Tracy took it and her face softened. “Don't you think you have something better to do, my dear?”

“I can’t help it. I’m so nervous.”

“It’s a rare groom that isn’t. But I need you to trust me. I’ve got this.”

“I do trust you,” he protested. “It just feels unnatural not to be in the thick of it.”

“It’s your _wedding day_ , Aziraphale. You’re going to be in the absolute center of it all day. You can’t get any more ‘in the thick of it’ than being the groom.”

“You know what I mean.”

Tracy patted him on the arm lightly. “I know, dear. You’ve never been on this side of it before. But I’m here, and I’ve got this. _You_ need to go get ready. The ceremony starts in forty-five minutes.”

“It’s going to take me five minutes to get dressed, then I’ll have to sit around and twiddle my thumbs for the better part of an hour,” he complained. 

“That’s not true and you know it. There are scads of photos to take before the ceremony.”

Aziraphale started to complain a little more, but Tracy touched the side of her head and glanced off, clearly listening to someone on the headset. Aziraphale dearly wished for it back. He felt so lost without it. 

“Crowley is here,” she said a moment later, with a smile. “He’s in his dressing room.”

Aziraphale felt a thrill. “Really?” He’d had this irrational and unfounded fear that Crowley would change his mind and back out at the last moment, but if he was _here_ , that must mean he intended to marry Aziraphale today, after all.

Tracy smiled kindly. “Yes, really. Now go on. Shoo. Go to your dressing room and put on your tux. Today, you marry Crowley!”

Aziraphale was too happy to reply. He just squeezed Tracy’s hand with a brilliant smile and went to do as he’d been told.

~*~O~*~

Crowley stood at the back of the venue, his heart pounding like a drum, wondering if all grooms were as nervous as he was. His palms were sweaty and it felt as if he were about to vibrate out of his skin. He kept straightening his tuxedo anxiously, needlessly, and the thumb of his left hand stroked the bare patch of skin on his third finger, where a ring would be placed in a matter of minutes. 

Bloody hell, he was about to be _married_.

Aziraphale had wanted to observe the tradition of not seeing each other before the ceremony and Crowley had agreed, even though he thought it was antiquated and silly. But he’d given in to Aziraphale, letting him have his way and his dream wedding, and Crowley had been _happy_ to give in to him at the time. Now, though, he was dying to lay eyes on his fiancé - soon to be husband - and was regretting having gone along with this. He couldn’t shake the fear that maybe Aziraphale would wise up, change his mind, and decide that marrying Crowley was a bad idea, after all. He wouldn’t feel peaceful about that prospect until he was finally able to see his angel. 

Crowley tried hard to ignore the photographers milling around, waiting to capture the moment they saw each other on film, and checked his watch for the twentieth time in the last couple of minutes. It was almost time. Where was Aziraphale? Crowley once again shook off the thought that maybe he’d changed his mind. Aziraphale wouldn’t leave him standing at the altar. Would he?

He had just decided to flag Tracy down and ask her where Aziraphale was when suddenly, his angel was just… _there_. Crowley gaped at him for a moment - despite the fact that he’d seen Aziraphale in a tux many, many times by now, he never got tired of the sight and was never any less awed by it. 

Aziraphale stood across from him, looking as anxious as Crowley felt, but smiling. Crowley had the impulse to go to him, to sweep him into his arms, but stood rooted to the spot. 

“You came,” Crowley said quietly. 

Aziraphale’s smile grew. “Of course I did. Were you worried about that?”

“I was petrified of it,” he confessed. 

“I wouldn’t have missed this chance, the chance to marry you, for anything.”

Crowley’s face broke into a wide smile. “Holy _shit_ , angel, we’re really doing this.”

Aziraphale giggled. “We are, indeed.”

Tracy breezed into the room, a swirl of flowing fabric, her smile bright. “Are my two favorite grooms ready? You’ve got about thirty seconds.”

Aziraphale nodded at her. “I’m ready.”

“I’m so fucking ready.”

Tracy gestured to them. “Alright then, boys, just as we practiced.”

They came together, Aziraphale hooking his arm through Crowley’s. Crowley looked over at his angel with raised eyebrows and a bright smile. “Here we go. Time to take a flying leap.”

Aziraphale beamed. “I can’t wait.”

The music changed, signaling their time to enter, and the doors opened out onto the crowded venue. When everyone in the crowd was standing, Tracy signaled they should start walking, and they went. 

Later, Crowley wouldn’t remember much of the ceremony. He knew the officiant they’d hired spoke while he and Aziraphale stood there, holding hands and smiling at each other lovingly. There was a ceremony with a candle, both of them coming together to light it, and he was sure that was nice. But it was all a bit of a blur until the officiant said, “Aziraphale and Crowley have elected to write their own vows, before they recite their shared vows. They will now make their vows to each other as they exchange rings. Crowley?”

Crowley glanced over at the officiant, who nodded, then back to Aziraphale. His heart felt like it was about to beat its way out of his chest, and Crowley took a quick, steadying breath before he began. 

“Aziraphale, angel, I never believed in love at first sight until the moment I saw you. But from that moment, I knew that you were somebody special, somebody precious. Every day, you manage to surprise me with just how kind and generous and altogether _wonderful_ you are. Every day, you somehow manage to make me fall in love with you all over again. All I want is to spend the rest of my life with you, making you happy in every way I can think of. I love you, with every fiber of my being, with every atom in my body, and I promise to love you until the seas boil and the Kraken rises from the deep to claim us all.”

The crowd laughed lightly, but Crowley only had eyes for Aziraphale, standing there with his eyes shining with happy tears. Crowley picked up the ring from the officiant's prayer book and slid it onto Aziraphale’s finger. 

“With this ring, I promise to be yours and yours alone. I promise to cherish you and support you for the rest of our lives. I promise to provide for you, comfort you, and shelter you as long as we live. I promise to _love_ you, without condition or reservation, for as long as I draw breath. So help me God.”

Twin tears spilled from Aziraphale’s eyes, cutting crystal tracks down his cheeks, and Crowley wanted to kiss them away. But not yet. Very soon, but not yet.

“Aziraphale?” the officiant prompted him. 

Aziraphale glanced over at the officiant, then back to Crowley. 

“Crowley, my darling… I’ve been surrounded by love, day in and day out, for twenty years. But I had no idea what it really _was_ until I met you. I was comfortable in my life - or so I thought - and then you showed up and made me see what I’d been missing for all my years. My love for you - the only word to describe it is _ineffable_. It’s indescribable. As I stand here now, on this day, I feel so many things, but one of the things I feel most strongly is _gratitude_. I’m so _thankful_ for you, my love, for everything you’ve given to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how grateful I am, if you’ll let me. I love you so much.”

Crowley felt a tear splash onto his cheek but didn't dare wipe it. He didn't dare look away from Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale broke eye contact long enough to pluck Crowley’s ring from the prayer book and slide it onto Crowley’s trembling finger. 

“With this ring, I promise to be yours and yours alone. I promise to cherish you and support you for the rest of our lives. I promise to provide for you, comfort you, and shelter you as long as we live. I promise to _love_ you, without condition or reservation, for as long as I draw breath. So help me God.”

Crowley clutched Aziraphale’s hand excitedly, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. 

“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce Anthony James Crowley and Aziraphale Zachary Fell to be legally wed. Crowley, Aziraphale, you may now kiss.”

Crowley laughed, a sound of pure joy, then pulled Aziraphale into his arms and kissed him soundly, their first kiss as ineffable husbands.

~*~O~*~

They’d managed to stay together through most of the reception, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, and accepting congratulations, but after dinner, Crowley disappeared from Aziraphale’s side for a few minutes. He hardly had time to wonder where his husband had gone, though, before he found himself in conversation with Anathema. 

“Congratulations!” she exclaimed, hugging him tight. “I’m so happy for you!”

Aziraphale hugged her back happily. “Thank you, my dear. You’re very much responsible for this, you know.”

“Nah. I just gave you two a nudge.”

“You did much more than that,” came a voice from Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he turned to see Crowley there, smiling, at the same time he felt Crowley’s arm go around his waist. “You were instrumental in getting the two of us together, and we can never thank you enough.”

“He’s right,” Aziraphale said, turning back to Anathema. “What could we ever possibly do to thank you?”

“I told you ages ago, I just wanted the chance to dance at your wedding,” she replied, beaming. 

“Well, you’ve got it,” Aziraphale replied. 

“Speaking of,” Crowley said, then came around in front of Aziraphale with a smile, bending over and offering his hand, just as he had at Anathema’s wedding nearly a year ago. “Could I interest you in a dance, angel?”

Aziraphale flushed with pleasure, but put his hand into Crowley’s. “It would be my very great joy.”

With a quick apology to a smiling Anathema, they went out onto the deserted dance floor. Once they were in the middle, Crowley pulled him into his arms, their bodies flush, his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and their hands joined between them, on their chests. With their eyes locked on each other, they started to sway. 

“We did it,” Crowley said.

“We did,” Aziraphale agreed. “We took that flying leap.”

“You’re not sorry, are you?”

“My dear, I’ve never been happier about anything in my life.”

Crowley kissed his nose. “Good. So tell me, angel of love, since you have such an uncanny ability to predict the futures of couples, how do you feel about the future of the newly minted Crowley-Fells?”

Aziraphale giggled a little. “I’d have to say that their future is by far the brightest I’ve ever seen.”

Crowley beamed at him. “That’s music to my ears, angel. Because I love you so much and can’t wait to spend forever with you. The next six thousand years.”

“Only six thousand?” Aziraphale teased. 

Crowley’s eyes twinkled. “That’s just a start.”

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you, too, Aziraphale.”

“Good to know. Now kiss me, husband.”

“Yes, sir.”

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, [this is the song that Aziraphale and Crowley dance to.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)
> 
> You can send me prompts, scream with me about the husbands, or just scream at me in general on [tumblr](https://caedmonfaith.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you again for all the love you've shown this story! <3


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